Privateer
by CrazygurlMadness
Summary: “I knew I ought to have forced her to leave with her aunt to the south. But she refused. Of course, of late I finally figured out why. She ought to have been wed a long time ago, before the idea of having a male friend would come along.” AU, Zelink.
1. Unfortunate Arrangements

**So stats say that for a hundred views of _Shades of Deception_, I got seven reviews. Interestingly, that's a lot of views for the first days, but relatively few reviews. Perhaps it's just a guilty pleasure for readers? Ah. This amuses me to no end.**

**And now, my little intro for this semi-long fic. I hadn't planned on making a multi-chaptered fic in the near future, but this won't be very long. Probably around four or five parts at most. So that's good for me.**

**The setting is british-based. Because it's hard to find specific cultural info quickly, I only loosely based this off the british social organisation, which was closest to what I was looking for. However, there may be elements reminiscent of french structures and concepts. I guess this setting is more like a melting pot of many infos to make the alternate world global. ****Overall, don't concern yourselves too much with historical accuracy. It's a spin-off.**

**Anyhow...**

**Warning: Some** adult subjects**, but come on. You've seen worse anyway. I'm overrating this. I tend to do that.**

**Onward, mates.**

**Privateer  
Part 1: Unfortunate Arrangements  
By CM**

The town hall was bright in the sunlight. All around, the city bustled, but when he entered the great foyer, with its large bay windows and winding stairs and large crystal chandelier and waxed marble floors and tidied carpets, all sound was muffled out. The heavy, dark and intricate wooden doors shut behind him, and in the midst of all the splendour, he couldn't help but smirk.

The valet, elegantly dressed with frills and a pale waistcoat, bowed in welcome once he was done securing the doors closed. With a self-important lilt, he said, "The lord will see you soon. Would you like to sit in the salon while you wait?"

He pressed his lips together, glancing at the other set of heavy, white double doors on his right. He took a breath, and smiled at the valet, who was waiting, chin held high, and said, "No. Thank you."

"I will see to it that Lord Harnian knows of your arrival."

He nodded, getting impatient with the uptight voice of the man. "Yes. You do that."

With a small tap of the foot and another bow, the valet eclipsed himself, an automaton.

Left to himself now, the visitor took a deep breath, and tugged at his high collar in irritation. He was not very patient by nature, and having to wait on others was something he despised, even if the others in question happened to be Lord Mayors of a nation's major city.

There was a long moment of silence, and even the air was still in the large entry hall. There was a series of footsteps, and some giggles that came from a hallway to his left. He held back a smile: finally, something interesting.

He turned his head, and, unexpectedly, was met with a beautiful, elegant young woman, blonde hair pulled up and baring her perfect, pale nape. Her handmaidens, who'd been giggling amid themselves, surrounded her. He'd thought to meet pretty servants, and instead was graced with this lovely vision. His eyes took in the breathtaking sight the fair-haired beauty made.

She wore one of the large, elegant waist dresses he saw only on the richest ladies—daughters of barons, governors' wives, and all of the often-bland female upper crust individuals.

His eyes roamed, evidently, for a brief fraction of a moment on the swell of her breast, forced up by the tight corset she wore, and onto the delicate hands she had clutching a laced fan, and the pale, fair, impeccable skin of her shoulder, and then up to her glorious visage.

And, to his surprise, she met his gaze with her own. Her eyes, piercing liquid blue gems set in a gentle, light pink, perfect featured face had him off his guard for a brief, very brief moment. Instinctively, he looked at her lips, and they were a dark, tempting, pink.

Before he could offer an appropriate greeting, she raised her eyes to the balcony. He followed her gaze.

The Lord Mayor Harnian came to lean stiffly against the railing, white rolls of hair bouncing on his shoulders as he smiled forcedly at his guest. His crinkled face and sharp eyes told the visitor not to meddle with his elderly self, and, the thought came almost instantly as the Lord Mayor glanced at the woman to his left, not to meddle with any of the household's ladies.

Evidently, the visitor decided, the gent of the old continent was not an amusing sort.

"Master Forster," Lord Harnian breathed, forcing a smile onto his face. "I've been expecting your visit."

The visitor smiled, bowing in greeting. He turned to the beautiful lady to his far side, ready to offer her a bow as well. She simply nodded stiffly, as though the arrival of the Lord Mayor had subdued all her initial hidden passion.

"Master Forster," the Lord called again, "I'd rather we not discuss this in front of my—" He interrupted himself and glanced at the young woman and her suddenly very quiet handmaidens. "Come into my office."

"Very well," the visitor nodded. He glanced one last time at the beautiful vision as she moved on into another hallway, and wondered what her relation to the Lord Mayor could be. Before he could ponder it any more, he focused on ascending the stairs and joining the Lord on the high balcony landing.

They nodded at each other in greeting, and Lord Harnian motioned at a set of double doors that, the visitor supposed, lead into the man's office. He stepped inside, and waited for the Lord Mayor to join him.

He took a spare second to glance around, taking in the heavyset desk and thick curtains. The whole place seemed heavy with self-importance. He did not take a seat. The lord walked in, and made his way to behind his desk. He gave a heavy breath and groan, and sat, as though the simple fact of walking around the large mansion's balcony was an exerting action.

There was short silence. The Lord Mayor did not offer his guest a seat. The young man did not expect him to. The elderly man pulled a seeing glass over his eye, reading some fine print on an official document.

"Link Forster, privateer," he mumbled, and it seemed the act of talking was exhausting too. "Hereby is accorded to the above named the right to—" He broke off his intelligible speech with a fading mumble. Then, he groaned after scanning the page. "… Well, you know what this is about."

The man's sharp eyes met with Link Forster's. The guest nodded.

"That, I do."

"Well then, enough twaddle talk. This is yours." The Lord Mayor rolled the document and handed it to Link. "The only addition to the list was according to your year-old request. Something or other about the_ Lune Empress_."

Link did not hold back his smile. "Aye. I mean, yes. My thanks to you."

The Lord Mayor did not smile. He shot the young man a warning stare. "There are no other rights accorded. You must still abide to all the laws. No cockamamie decisions. We've enough to deal with in the case of Knil Drake, and should we hear of ill will on the part of the _HMS Medallion_, I can assure you there will be no regard whatsoever to your many years of effect."

Link Forster nodded with a faint smile. "Evidently."

"I'd suggest you bombard that foolish Drake's ship—"

"The _HMS Hammer_."

"Yes, that one. I'd suggest you rid the ocean waters of that troublesome cod, but my hands in the matter are tied. It seems no man is deemed strong enough to rid us of the famed Sea Devil—much less a man belonging to his home nation's fleet."

Link Forster did not answer. He waited.

"Although," the Lord Mayor said, "I would not be the kind to react if you accidentally shot a couple of your cannons in his direction upon meeting him."

Link smiled. Then, the Lord Mayor seemed to remember something. To one of the valets standing by the doors, he said, "Go fetch her."

Link frowned, and motioned to the door. "Shall I be on my way?"

"No, you stay. I've a request to make on your part."

The Lord Mayor fell quiet. The valet exited, and as he closed the door behind him, Link Forster asked, to fill in the silence, "I expect… your wife has been well?"

The Lord Mayor, apparently annoyed by the question, huffed. "Women. She's on the south coast, trying to heal from recurrent migraines. Or something or other. I'd not be surprised if she was entertaining one of her many lovers as she did."

Link Forster raised a brow, but asked nothing else. It seemed then that the Lord had not, as was the fashion, wed the young woman in the hall to be his bride. He thought of the fair-haired vision. It was just as well. He'd worried, a moment, that the poor-lucked beauty had been matched with a pathetic husband—the kind of man too old to satisfy a young woman's needs and desires.

The privateer held back a secret smile.

And then, he wondered what relation the beauty had with the Lord.

As he pondered this, the Lord Mayor began to speak again.

"As I was saying," he said tiredly, "I have a request." He interrupted himself. "I trust you've seen my niece."

Link Forster frowned. "As a matter of fact—"

"The young lady in the entrance hall."

Suddenly, it was as though Link had an illumination. "Ah," he said, hiding a note of appreciation. "I hadn't concluded that she was your niece. She looked…" He strove to find a word to describe her beauty, and then caught sight of the suspicious old man's eye. "… Healthy," he finished, a bit lamely, he admitted to himself.

"Hm," the Lord Harnian gruffly answered. "A pity she couldn't be more sickly of late. It'd have kept her out of city trouble."

"City trouble?" Link Forster couldn't help but be interested. So the girl had a devious side…? He was curious.

"I knew I ought to have forced her to leave with her aunt to the south. But she refused. Judicious, that. Of course, of late I finally figured out why. She ought to have been wed a long time ago, before the foolish idea of having a male friend would come along."

Male friend…?

"A lover?" Link Forster guessed. The Lord Mayor Harnian grimaced, as though the word was filth to his ears.

"Lovers." He spat. "Before marriage, of all things."

Link tried not to smile at the pure irony of the man's words.

"I see," Link acknowledged. "And you'd expect me to—?"

"A woman's thoughts are so easily changed. My certainty is that with a bout of new sceneries, she'll have a switch of heart. I'd been hoping you'd take her to the new continent."

As the words sunk in, Link couldn't help but furrow a brow suddenly. "You mean to ship her off to the new world?"

"I believe I've made myself clear." The Lord stood to go get a set of papers on a writing desk against the wall. He brought them back. "I've here the right of passage for one female passenger. Cost a fortune, that." He scanned the document, as though to find a specific sentence. With a grunt, he muttered as he read, "Safe passage to the waters of the nation's colonies…" He broke off with another mumble then looked up sharply at Link Forster. "All we need to add is the leave date. When do you plan to depart?"

Link Forster's head was full of questions, but he chose only one to ask. "Sir, allow me to ask. You wish to send your niece off to the New World on my privateering ship to keep her away from her lover. That much I've gathered. But why trust me above others with this precious cargo?"

The Lord Mayor did not smile. He shot Link a warning glare. "You were the only privateer available on this side of the ocean. All the others are in high season, I'm told."

Link Forster raised a brow, but said nothing. He took a respectful step back. Lord Harnian sat back down. "You will treat her as she deserves: a lord's niece, and a high standing lady. Of yet, none know of her shameful liaisons—perhaps a season or two on the new continent will clear her mind, teach her proper behaviour. As such, you will drop her off before returning to your usual… seafaring… mischief."

Link wished to speak, but the valet, who had returned from his earlier errand, interrupted them. The elegant servant bowed, for the umpteenth time, and held the door open, with a curt, "Her Ladyship, Miss Zelda Harnian."

And, again, Link's eyesight was graced with beauty incarnated. Her previously delicate features had been hardened to a sharp, harsh stare. She did not smile, she did not laugh, and it seemed to Link that heaven had been denied one of its many rights.

Before he could pursue any more of this uncharacteristic bout of poetry, the Lord Mayor Harnian spoke up. "Ah. Finally. There you are." He motioned for the young woman to step inside the office. She did so, but clearly she was not enthusiastic about it.

Glancing at Link, he said, "Zelda. This is Link Forster, a privateer." He shot her an obvious look, one Link Forster, from many years of careful human observation, had no trouble deciphering. It seemed Harnian's opinion of privateers was lower than civilly justified. "For lack of better transportation means, he'll be taking you to the new continent on his ship."

Zelda did not answer, but her eyes hardened. Link Forster felt a pang of sympathy for her, though he was, selfishly, not saddened to drag her away from her faceless lover. What sort of man, aside from himself, of course, could possibly deserve perfection personified?

"You will be leaving," the Lord Mayor continued, paused, then turned to Link. "When will your ship be ready for departure again?"

Link glanced from the Lord to the niece, and finally said, "I'd say we'll be ready to depart tomorrow morning. We've docked four days ago."

"And only now did I have time for our audience," mumbled the Lord, waving it off, and Link nodded, trying not to smile smugly. "Very well. In that case," he turned to his beautiful niece, "you will be ready and on the dock one hour prior."

For the first time, Link Forster heard the angel's voice. She retorted, with a wounded note, "As I have no other choice."

"You do not," declared the Mayor with a decisive lilt. "You will leave for Orley, in the New World. There, my sister Audrey Harnian will be your guardian. You will not disobey or disrespect her in any way. She is proving to be of immense kindness in letting you stay at her plantation for the upcoming months, and you will thank her on my behalf as well."

"Audrey Harnian!" The beauty exclaimed with an insulted cry. "Why must it be she? She is a crazed, old hag witch and employs those southern slaves—Uncle!"

But the Lord Mayor would not hear any of it. He stood slowly and barked, unpleasantly, "That is enough. You will not insult your relations in this way. Now leave. You are indisposing our guest, who also showed great kindness in taking you along."

"Oh, Uncle. I know only too well he was paid for the service. And, I suspect, so was the witch."

"You will address her as Aunt Audrey and show due respect to those who show you a kindness," the Lord ordered harshly. "Leave at once."

She did, with a huff and a strangled cry. The valet, apparently emotionless, opened and closed the door at her passage. Within seconds, the two men were left to themselves again.

"Forgive my niece," the Lord wheezed, blowing in a clear white handkerchief. "She's grown too old for this sort of fit. Any how, I've one last affair to treat of with you."

Link Forster nodded, waiting for the man to put his handkerchief away.

The Lord Mayor took a pouch of coins from his drawer. He placed it on the desk, and put his hand over it. "This money," he said, "is to ensure no harm comes to my niece. This is in return for your personal promise to protect her from outside dangers and, I'm aware, of the probable disrespect naval hands tend to offer female travellers."

Link did not respond. There was nothing to say, and he was not interested in defending the kindness of his crew.

"May I count on you, privateer?"

Link Forster glanced at the bag of coins as it jingled. He took a deep breath and said, "Keep the money. I've no need to be bought in the matter."

"You will take her to Orley before all other matters."

"I will."

The Lord Mayor seemed to breathe easily again. He sat back in his elegant chair. "Then," he said, "all is settled."

* * *

The stagecoach stank of horse. She detested the smell, though not the animals themselves. It seemed, only, that no one had perfumed the inside, and thus it was continuously scented with dung. 

Alas, perhaps it was not really anyone's fault. She was feeling quite morbid at that moment in time, and certainly her mood did not lighten the atmosphere or her observations. In front of her, the house governess sat, looking rigid and trying her best to maintain her stature despite the many hiccups of the wagon.

The young lady wondered if the New World's roads had been better finished than with cobblestone. She wondered what sort of person could possibly choose to exile themselves in such a remote and different land. Criminals? Fallen doves?

Or perhaps women in love against their families' will. She knew her dearest friend Malon had suffered the same fate, for insulting the horrid man she'd been due to wed.

The lady wondered if indeed the new continent was half as terrible as the old house servants had said. Word ran fast, too fast, and she wished she could have gotten some positive light on the situation. As it was, there seemed to be no end to her upcoming misery.

Oh, but could a woman indeed not fall in love with the Baron Marth d'Altea? Truly, such dark hair and such a deep gaze could only be found on one's true love. And his gentle words and stubborn decisions made him such a strong party. If only he'd not been engaged.

"I can see," the governess in front of her suddenly said, "where your thoughts are headed, milady, and I do advise that you not let them persuade you of doing anything unwise."

The lady glanced at her and sighed, exasperated. Truly, could a woman not think for herself any longer?

"I'm afraid," she responded, "that should I decide to do anything rash, you'd be much too incapable of stopping me."

There were no other words between them. She did notice, however, that the governess, that hag, had grown very uncomfortable and edgy after that. While the lady congratulated herself on once again gaining the upper hand, she condemned her harsh words.

With a small, sad smile to herself, the lady feared she would never become the elegant, worldly host her mother had been. She feared she would be shunned, beyond the ocean, where life had not yet moved on to mundane affairs, where she'd be obliged to understand the way of the earth if she dared survive.

And, in the midst of it all, she feared her orthographic and mathematic skills would be disregarded as useless. Oh, how she'd have given herself a horsewhipping to escape this fate!

And how horrid would life with her aunt be; to live among slaves she could not free and governors' daughters who'd have no other worry in the world but to mock her. For it was true they'd no soiled reputation, while she'd had to cross an ocean to escape hers.

In fact, simply the prospect of the ocean crossing made the stagecoach travel feel like grand luxury. The Royal Navy might have approved the ship, but she knew what conditions were imposed onto the sailors. She knew—word went fast. Oh, to have to keep your head lowered so as not to hit your forehead on a beam and eat rotten food. What sort of man could accept such conditions—and then fight with cannons and kill other sailors and sink other vessels!

For she knew what privateers did. On the verge of piracy, the privateer ships were allowed by law of their own country to sink and pillage other nations' merchant ships, at times murdering the resistant crews.

The lady's thoughts went towards the memory of the privateer captain, whose eyes had betrayed far more intelligence than her Uncle seemed to have granted knowledge of. Was that sharp-eyed man truly the lawful murderer of so many people?

"You've far too morose a face, Missus Zelda," the old governess chided, for the tenth time. "Aren't you glad to discover new things?"

Not, the lady thought, when she was obliged to.

"I've heard," the governess continued without paying heed to the lady's distasted scowl, "that your aunt's plantation is a vast property on the edge of a prosperous city. Orley, Missus Zelda, is quite a nice bit of land. You oughtn't get too tired there, for sure."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Zelda Harnian mumbled.

The governess shot the lady a reproachful look. "Mind your words, Missus. Attitude like that is what'll get you in trouble on that dreadful ship of your Uncle's."

"It is not my Uncle's ship," Zelda Harnian corrected in annoyance. "It is her Majesty's ship, the _Medallion_, and its captain's name is Link Forster. The man himself is a low ranking officer who has been appointed to the frigate in his early days in hopes of training him for wartime—instead, he's been affected to the 6th rate ships because of his uncanny ability to understand other merchant movements. They upgraded him, but he kept command of his hundred and fifty men and two decks and two masts, for practicality."

"My lady," the governess said with a small amount of shock. "You do seem knowledgeable in the matter."

Know your enemies, the lady thought darkly. Her Uncle had assured her the captain would protect her honour, but she had noticed the shining glint in the man's eye—she preferred not to trust him, nor trust any of his crew.

The stagecoach halted on the stone docks. With an admiring hum, the governess leaned towards the window to admire the _HMS Medallion_. The lady too glanced at it,and had to suppressany sort of enthusiasm for the frigate.

It was, she unfortunately had to admit, a beautiful piece of boat. It looked well kept, and the heteroclite carvings on its body seemed taken from an immense variety of places—far eastern imperial dominions, southern tribal territories, northern and traditional regnant kingdoms, and new world autochthon lands—the artistry of which came to mingle in a strange piece of floating architecture.

Had the captain and his crew truly travelled the world, as the word said, and gathered decorative arts from each nation they'd visited?

Zelda Harnian's curiosity, to the lady's chagrin, was piqued.

The footman opened the door, and the governess went out first, looking both enchanted and anxious. Zelda Harnian considered that perhaps the woman wasn't so sad to see her go. Perhaps the old woman's eagerness reflected that of the whole household.

Zelda Harnian could not help but feel sadness. It was true she had found the city gent and manners constricting, but she had hoped they wouldn't be so glad to see her leave.

She grabbed hold of the door to keep her balance as she got off the stage. The footman, a middle-aged, thin sort of man, shot her a sad smile and offered her his gloved hand. With a small, apologetic smile, she accepted it.

Voice low, the footman said, nodding his head at the lady, "You shall be missed, Milady."

Heart swelling, Zelda Harnian shot him a thankful look. With those words, he had dissipated her doubts about the care of her household. Then, she let go of the man's hand, and felt the scrunch of parchment in her palm. With a curious glance at the footman, the only answer she obtained was a nod, and a soft goodbye.

"Come along now, Missus Zelda," the old governess harped. "Wouldn't want to hold the sailors back now, would we?"

The lady Zelda Harnian sighed, and glanced at the footman as he took her luggage from the stagecoach's back: a single trunk, with a bag. She was to purchase more dresses in the new world.

"When will I return?" She'd asked her Uncle, and he hadn't responded for a long moment.

Then, he'd carefully said, "We will send for you."

The _Medallion_'s crew was moving along the deck and dock, double-checking the rigging, securing the cargo and goods, measuring the weather conditions. It was a beautiful day, and a dizzying display of enthusiasm. The lady clutched the piece of parchment tighter. She felt ill at the idea of leaving the old world.

The governess stood, looking up at the two-mast with an awestruck face. Truly, the lady thought, it was as though she'd never seen a warship before.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned. The governess moved forward with a sort of enthusiasm that Zelda Harnian found most depressing.

"Captain Forster!" The woman said with a sweet tinge that made the lady roll her eyes in her back. "We've been searching for you!"

The handsome captain smiled, and suddenly the Lady Zelda saw what it was that had made the old governess so candid. Why, he was deliberately spurring on the woman's fancy! His immaculate smile and eyes, down to his impeccable captain outfit and low rank decorations practically screamed that he was being accommodating—and the governess saw none of it. Indeed, she had taken hold of the young privateer's arm with a vigour that seemed to surprise him and was loudly mourning the Lady Zelda Harnian's departure.

"Oh, had I known it would be this way—but I asked the Lord Mayor to allow me to depart with our poor Miss Zelda, but he said he had much more need of my services here—"

With a raised brow, the privateer looked up at the lady. She simply pressed her lips tightly together, and avoided his gaze with a held back smile. His eyes, she thought, were unusually blue today—perhaps due to the bright morning sun. They were piercing.

"And trust me, I am," the governess was still saying, oblivious. "… Why, I haven't been this sad since the death of good lord Edward Harnian—"

This snapped Zelda Harnian's attention back to the moment. "Yes, governess," she curtly interrupted, "I'd pray you not to discuss my father's passing with the _kindly_ captain." She shot the privateer a warning glare. "I'm quite sure he has other matters to attend."

"Absolutely not, I assure you," the captain Link Forster said, just as sweetly, "I've been expecting your arrival. And I was hoping to show you your quarters for the duration of the trip. Shall we?"

"As I've no choice," she said, for the umpteenth time, it seemed.

"Well then," he said, eyes sharp but speaking as though she happily acquiesced, "I suppose your footman shall come along with your luggage—he is sure to attest to the propriety of the arrangements, aye—yes?"

Though the lady noticed the slip-up, she said nothing. His eyes flashed in her direction, but quickly became masked again as he smiled at the old governess. The footman, carrying the lady's trunk and bag, followed them as they climbed the footbridge onto the frigate's main deck.

The crew was fast paced and so perfectly coordinated, it seemed near acrobatic. The lady glanced at the many sailors who were passing her by. They all sported eager looks and smiles, as though they couldn't wait to be out at sea again.

She overheard many conversations. One sailor, with a wide grin, was saying, "Can't wait to be back in me hometown. The wife's been pregnant for months now—methinks she'd be quite big already. 'Un I want ta be there when the kid is born."

"How much is 'at now?" His interlocutor asked. And the proud father smiled.

"Seven. Why, I'd be quite glad to see 'um all on the docks when we get home."

The lady listened with vague interest. Numerous children in families were not unusual, far from it, but they were rare in higher classes. The privateer captain was watching her. With a conversational tone, he said, "That's Benjamin Barolt. He was born in Harthrowe, south of here. He currently lives in the new continent, with his wife."

"And seven children," the lady said with annoyance. "I'd gathered."

The captain said nothing, but she avoided his steely blue gaze.

"Well," the governess said, as she still held on to the captain's arm. "Shall we see Miss Zelda's apartments?"

"Of course," the captain said, and his face returned to being sweeter than sweet. With a kindred though probably insincere smile at the governess, he led them towards the frigate's quarterdeck.

"These are my apartments," he said, and as the governess was about to ask an obvious question, he added, "I shall be sleeping in the decks with the crew. Thus, these apartments are yours for the trip's duration."

Zelda Harnian entered the area. Here was a large surface, divided into a large area and a cabin to the left. In the middle, and there she stood, was a short table and four chairs. Panelled windows showed the busy docks and bright ocean stretching into the distance. There were cabinets and trunks on both sides against walls, and a large weaved basket holding map scrolls, as well as a thick, elegant—likely stolen—carpet.

To the left was the bedchamber. It was a simple bed with plain utilitarian sheets and a thick, dark green cotton overlay. There were dark curtains in the windows, and a small side table. There was a tall, nailed library of books, two trunks of clothes, and a thin carpet.

"Oh my…" the governess said, and the privateer glanced at her with a mild, quickly dissimulated annoyance. "It is… quite bare indeed."

"I refuse to believe that I ought to be any more comfortable than my crewmen," he said instead. "Although I do hope you find it to your liking, Miss Harnian?"

She turned to him. She'd been examining some titles on his shelf. With a forced smile, she said, "I do, thank you."

The governess clapped her hands, and turned to the doorway. "Ah, but where is that footman? Oh, could he have gotten lost?" She turned back to Link Forster. "Captain, I do trust you will entertain Miss Zelda whilst I find our footman?"

Link Forster turned to the lady, who felt like rolling her eyes. "I do believe," he said, to Zelda Harnian's annoyance, "that I could very much ensure that our lady does not get bored."

"Splendid!" The governess exclaimed. "I shall be back, then. No foolish actions, dear," she added to the lady Zelda, who raised a brow but said nothing.

As soon as the old woman was gone, the privateer released a loud breath and slumped against the doorframe. The lady barely budged. He shot her a teasing smile, "Aye, and you do this every day, milady?"

"I've been taught to," she simply answered, returning her gaze to the bookshelf. Then, she remembered the paper she held in her hand, and almost took it open to read. She stopped, and feigned that nothing was on her mind. To no avail.

"And what is it that the footman gave you?" The captain-privateer asked. "A love note? Or perhaps a simple goodbye?"

She glared at him. "I fail to understand how that would be any of your business."

"I see," he said, though he didn't seem to care. "And do you intend to be this callous for the remainder of the voyage as well?"

"It is my right to treat others as I please. Whether you choose to approve of it or not does not regard me."

"My, temper," he continued. "It's no wonder your uncle is sending you away."

She turned to him with wordless indignation, and he smirked. Immediately, she turned back to the shelf. He sighed.

"The instant you'll drop that cold exterior, the instant I'll quit my cruel words. I swear, my lady, that I will match your heartlessness with my own, and should you ever tire of it, you shall have to be the first one to stop. This is my ship," he added, "and these are my rules. I force you not to abide to them—but you shall see soon enough that it is strongly recommended."

"Is that a threat?" She asked, internally seething.

He smiled handsomely. "Never to you, milady." His smirk broadened. "Rather… It's a promise."

* * *

**So that's part one of four or five.**

**Review if you enjoyed. And don't be scared to review. I don't bite.**

**Check out my other fics if you have time and liked this.**

**Love,  
CM**


	2. Treacherous Waters

**Second part up! I've already started part 3, so no fears! Some people have been showing some concern as to whether I'd be dropping this story. The simple answer is NO. I'd never give up something I'm having so much fun writing in the first place. Besides, a few-chaptered story is not a huge commitment, so it's not like I'll get tired of this plot before the end.**

**Hm. I might upgrade this to a six chapters story, but that's just a thought. It depends on how many chapters are needed to tell the tale.**

**Anyhow, there's no real warning in here. Some Zelink feeling hot for each other. But that's expected and good, so who cares.**

**I wonder if anyone is actually reading this. ****Oh well.**

**This story is mostly for all those LoZ fans who are so depressed of late and seem to be letting the community slow down. Cheer up, people, it's not like the Big N is ever going to _drop _Twilight Princess. That'd be the dumbest move ever made by a human being since the beginning of mankind.**

**So come on. Spread the love, chaps, and hold on to your patience. It'll be worth it.**

**Warning:** No warning.** Because I said so, and because if you read the first chapter, then whatever. This can't be any worse.**

**Arrr, matey.**

**Privateer  
Part 2: Treacherous Waters  
By CM**

Comparison between the uptight and elegant backdrop of the lady's life and the daily warmth and familiarity of the _HMS Medallion_ was impossible to avoid. Here, she did not have a maid or valet at her every beck and call. Why, if she chose to lock herself in, she would find herself quite helpless indeed. And on top of that, the captain's crew had been far too improper to her, and that in the first few hours of the journey alone!

Already, five crewmen had offered her their warmth at night, and in not quite such polite words either. As for the few women onboard, they'd been friendlier, though ill at ease. If the difference in sex disappeared, that of status erected a tall wall to shut her out.

And now, a week into the voyage, she had stopped her attempts to understand the crew. They were far too different from her.

As for the young captain, the lady was even more put off. Their first encounter after the episode in the cabin had been less than proper. It had occurred the morning of the first travel day, and she had only just arisen. Hardly expecting to have company so early, she had ventured out of the bedchamber in her nightdress, hair put down and feet bare. The whole ship creaked around her, and the worrying sounds had woken her up earlier than usual. Dawn was hardly breaking outside her window.

There, ruffling in his parchment work, Link Forster looked haggard and focused. His hair was still ruffled from sleep, and his clothes were far simpler and less decorated than his previous captain outfit.

Upon her arrival, because of the floorboards creaking, he'd looked up, hardly even allowing her time to consider returning to the safe and respectable cabin she had only just left. She had gasped and crossed her arms without thinking, though she was dressed anyhow. Certainly less than appropriate, a propriety concept she thought foolish, as she was still quite covered enough.

All the lady managed to gasp was a troubled, "What are you doing here?"

The captain had raised a brow, but his face remained otherwise unchanged. The young woman did not miss his eyes as they examined her up and down in a fraction of a second, but he did not seem like he would comment.

Then, the corner of his lip tilted upward, and he asked, calmly, "Alas, milady, could you have chosen to socialize? I must say…" His eyes fell to her crossed arms over her chest. "… I did not expect, nor hope, that you'd be quite so generous in comforting a mere captain."

Zelda Harnian gasped with vivid indignation. She was speechless for a few furious seconds, then managed, "… You—How dare you—"

"Be at peace," Link Forster then waved, turning his gaze back to the maps spread out before him. "I was only jesting." She was still in shock and anger at his insinuations. He shot her a glance, then sighed. "Truly, milady, you must learn to be lighter on the matter."

"Were we in the old continent, you would have been disgraced and demoted to the rank of stable hand," she said, glaring at the captain.

He passively listened to the lady Zelda's warning, then shrugged and said, "As I doubt you will be returning to the old world anytime soon, I must, in truth and honesty, admit that I simply do not care. I have not forced myself on you, nor do I intend to."

"You did mention you would not spend time here," she said, angry more at being found in such a state than at him.

"Did I?" The privateer frowned. "Well, I did mention I would sleep with the crew, I suppose, but certainly nothing about my presence here during the day was ever discussed."

The lady glared at him once more. "I find you are most unpleasant, captain."

"And I find that you are far too stuck onto meaningless things. What shall you do, milady, if I decide to stay here all day? Bodily displace me? Why, that would be quite fitting, considering your foul mood thus far."

The lady said nothing, but he saw his diatribe has lashed out crueller than he had meant. She had winced at the injustice of his words, and now the privateer regretted it. He softened a bit.

"… I hope you slept well, for a first night." He had already seen her fast asleep, unable earlier on to keep from looking a brief instant upon the resting beauty. He knew she had slept fairly enough, though he also wished to hear her speak now. "Most passengers have a difficult start."

"I was fine," she softly said, still defensive. He regretted his verbal attacks now more than ever.

"And…" He forced a teasing smile. "That note the footman gave you… Will you truly not tell me what it was?"

The lady Zelda Harnian had refused then to answer him and had retreated to her cabin in embarrassment. When she'd come out again, simply dressed, the captain had gone.

The lady sat on her bed, a week later, feeling the roll of the hull under her, and skimmed the words on the piece of parchment her uncle's footman had handed her. Though she read it, she did not need to, for she had memorized it almost.

It was a note from Marth.

With a sigh and a sad frown, she turned to the window of the cabin, the only place she knew was free of other people's presence, the only place she felt safe, the only place where the captain and his crew did not seek her.

After the dreadful first morning, the lady had not seen Link Forster for another two days, and when she did spot him, it was scarcely and there hadn't been another conversation. She had tried to venture outside the private apartments, as loneliness and boredom had been eating at her, but the action and sneers of the crew had been unsettling, and she always quickly fell back to the captain quarters.

A woman by the name of Anju brought her food regularly, but there were never many words exchanged, and even less smiles. It seemed, to the lady's chagrin, that her reputation and standing had silenced all those whose hearts would have been wide enough to like her. Thus, this Anju brought her meals, without fail, every day, thrice a day, but nothing else.

And so, after a week, the lady Zelda had quite lost her appetite, yearning for more than mere food, hoping for company, wishing for—how it burned her mind to wish it—another word with the captain, the elusive privateer, whose sharp eyes and handsome smile never quite seemed to fade.

The lady sighed again, looking back down at the note clutched in her hand. Indeed, Marth's writing—it was his, no doubt about that—beautifully curved on the parchment, as though he hadn't once hesitated as he had written.

It was so very much like Marth d'Altea, in truth, to secretly have this note sent to her when it was too late for her to answer.

'My dearest Zelda,' he'd written. 'How my heart aches to think of you leaving for so far a place—damned be our fate, yet blessed be the land you grace with your presence, and bathe with your light. I've heard despairing rumours, and I found no occasion to meet with you personally. I fear our love has been discovered, and I wish not to fan the flames and put your reputation to ashes.

'It has not escaped my attention that my incursion into your life, however akin to paradise, has made both our reputations brittle. Despairingly, you and I both know our love was not to be. It pains me to say so, for a day with you was like a lifetime of joy, and I would have done all to protect you from our world's harsh judgements.

'Perhaps, then, my dearest Zelda, is this outcome best for both of us. As was decided by a cruel turn of fate, I must now wed my fiancée, and in your best interest, you ought to forget me. My heart is broken to write these words, but it is true. You must find the man your uncle will approve of—a man with decorum and wealth that match yours.

'Milady Zelda, you must never doubt the love my heart has given you, nor must you doubt my sincere intentions.

'With the heartbroken hope that you shall find the true happiness you deserve, I make you my final goodbyes.

'With love,' he had signed. 'Marth d'Altea.'

At first, the lady had wept, and then, the words had been deformed in her sleep, twisting around and shaping a message that said, _grosso modo_, that Marth was glad to be rid of her. The nightmare and fear and heartache had made her eat less and hide more.

Truthfully, a week into the voyage, the lady Zelda Harnian was beginning to wither. And so, it was with little visible emotion that she came face to face with the privateer captain once more, that foggy morning.

The scenario never changed did it? The handsome captain always appeared, seemingly from nowhere, at the most inappropriate or inopportune times, flustered her, then vanished to attend some other chore. This morning was no different. Why, she had barely even stepped out of her cabin that he was there.

It struck the lady, then, that the captain was quite tall.Indeed, her eyes came level with his mouth. She was not a dwarf, by all means, and she had considered Marth to be just the right height. They could look each other in the eye, after all.

But to see the captain's mouth from so close—the thoughts that came to her mind could have sent her straight to purgatory. Oh, for shame! Was she truly that lonely that she'd lose her mental propriety and dignity?

Never mind that. If he hadn't surprised her, she wouldn't have begun to compare him to Marth, would she?

The captain seemed to give her a once over, eyes staying longer than necessary on her weary face. She did seem drawn and pale. He worried that she was seasick.

"Are you well, my lady?" He asked, voicing his concern.

The lady's eyes snapped up to his, and he had to resist the urge to shudder. They were a sharp and pale blue, the kind to match the shallow waters of tropical islands.

Those eyes were not shallow, however, which was most unsettling. He saw fleeting emotions pass on her face, too quickly for him to identify them.

"I am well," she said, voice steadier than he had expected. She gave him a contemptuous once over, which was difficult considering their proximity. "I'd be far better if I could breathe."

He stepped away dazedly. Her eyes followed his movement expressionlessly. Damned! She was still beautiful, even after a week of poor conditions.

"What were you doing at my door?" She asked, suspiciously.

The captain was not a fool. Her tone snapped his thoughts back to where he knew they ought to be. Accordingly, he retorted with mocking detachment, "Why, obviously I was waiting for you to come out nude as the day you were born to make you enjoy your stay to the best of my ability."

Her shocked face was worth digging his grave. He reached up, intenton patting her shoulder, saw it was bare because her gown had slipped, and pulled his hand away, suddenly feeling warmer than he'd intended to feel.

If she saw the movement, she did not comment on it.

"More truthfully," the captain awkwardly said, "may I please enter my cabin and take a book from that shelf?"

The lady, still unable to find a proper retort, turned to look at the shelf nailed against the wall and looked back at the apologetic face of the handsome privateer.

"You may," she said, and to her embarrassment her voice was weak.

"Thank you kindly," he said, with the lilt of familiarity that he tended to slip into unconsciously, and brushed past her.

In a fleeting glance, he saw the rumpled covers of his bed, and resolutely turned back to his search, thanking his decision to wear long sleeves today, lest she see his shiver.

In an attempt to avoid falling into the unsafe waters of contemplation and daydream, the lady crossed her arms and looked at his profile, politely asking, "What are you looking for?"

The captain, surprised by her unusual pacifistic question, gratefully turned to look at her and shot her a wide smile. "I keep reference books in here. I usually don't use them."

The lady raised a brow, and he looked bashful. Ruffling his hair as he scratched his head—and now it looked worse than it already was, the captain admitted, "I usually remember things by heart."

"I see," she said, and though the tone was suspicious, he saw that she was not challenging his words.

He looked between the beauty and the shelf, and it seemed he had forgotten why he was there. He said, to the lady, unable to let the conversation die now that she had initiated it of her own will, "I was looking for the registry of all Her Majesty's ships." His eyes flew to the shelf, and he found the thick, leather bound book almost immediately. His fingers grazed over the used binding and golden lettering gently. "I… I am preparing a tactic and want to know their weak points."

The lady raised the other brow now. "A tactic against her Majesty's ships?"

"I could have meant to ally with them," the captain said, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You would not ally with anyone," she said with a certainty that surprised the both of them.

He laughed. "You are correct," he said. With a sigh and a roll of his shoulder, the captain said, "It's true I don't like sharing…" He looked at her, seriously now and finished his sentence after a contemplative pause. "… power, riches, fame and… cargo."

The way he said the words made her feel alarmingly heated. Yet, the lady did not allow the strange, creeping doubt to invade her mind and take control. She kept her face straight, her eyes glued into his.

"Are you plotting on betraying your home fleet?" She asked, straightforwardly, unwilling to have her deductions avoided by a well-played twist of words.

Link Forster, nose turned to the pages he'd flipped open, said nothing. She waited, and when she obtained no response, she huffed and left the doorway. He could stay in that minuscule cabin for all she cared.

Conscious that she was still only clad in her vague night robe, the lady Zelda could not stalk out of the captain's quarters so rashly. Ultimately, she had no choice but to stay in this larger room until he quitted her current bed chamber and she was allowed to change into decent clothes.

Vividly annoyed, the lady paced a moment before pulling one of the captain's chairs back and seating herself in it, throwing unnerved glances at her cabin door. She knew that, in truth, the small room was his, and not hers, but she had expected him to be a bit more respectful for her privacy.

Then again, it was his ship, and she was his… cargo, was she not? Quite obviously, the captain cared little for manners, despite how well he could fake them.

When he still did not emerge, she busied herself with sharp glances around the room. She'd already thoroughly examined it, and found nothing to occupy her idle and irked mind.

That is, she did not remember seeing that pistol in her past explorations.

Furrowing her brow and throwing a suspicious glare at the open door of her cabin, inside which the captain was silently turning book pages, the lady stood.

The ornate weapon seemed more decorative than practical, but as with all manly gifts, it was perfectly functional. It had been put down on a chest of drawers, probably forgotten as he had come in. She wondered if it had been stolen from the merchandise from personal greed or if it had truly been gifted to him.

Its holster was not far. Thread was richly embroidered in a leather case, and even she had to admit it was a fine piece of work.

Her fingers reached out uncertainly, wondering what the cold ornamental weapon felt like, whether the decorated body was still warm from the captain's touch. The pad of her fingers grazed the metal, feeling a single gold rose on the cannon. Her touch was incredibly light. She could have not touched it and felt the sharp electric shock of forbidden action anyway.

Truly, a woman touching a weapon was improper, especially if it was without the owner's permission. Still, she risked another featherlike touch, and caressed the ridges and decoration. She observed the way the light glinted off the solid body.

The lady went to pick it up, and in her hands, the solid weapon felt heavy. She examined it again. Carved letters were discernable on the butt of the pistol, and she saw the two initials easily.

L and F, and thus her suspicions regarding the captain's greed vanished. This was, without doubt, a gift to him.

She ran her fingers over the decorations again, knowing she oughtn't touch what was not hers, and yet unable to let herself ignore the ornate handgun. It was as though all at once the captain had become a mysterious stranger whose hobbies frightened and excited her both.

Heart beating fast with the awareness that he could find her with the pistol in her possession, the lady Zelda felt her stomach knotting up. It was fear and dare and curiosity mingled together within her. She could almost picture him wielding the gun, and her hand went to caress the ornate handle, as though she could touch his hand through it. She was not thinking clearly anymore, else she'd have realized what it was she was doing.

Her face was flushed, her hands were shaking now, conscious of the immense power the weapon bestowed upon her and of the intimate link it had with its owner.

Is she so pleased, a single pull on the trigger…

"Miss Harnian."

The stone cold sound of the captain's voice startled her far more than she had expected. She very nearly dropped the pistol, and yet she gripped it tighter and turned to the privateer, eyes wide, barrel trained towards his chest within the second.

To her surprise, all his good humour was gone, and she saw him look at the pistol. She turned it away from him in fright almost immediately. Then, his eyes moved from the gun to her pale, breathless face.

Without another moment's hesitation, he took a few long steps towards her, with assurance she felt she was lacking, and carefully took the pistol from her shaking hands. He placed it on the table behind him, and turned back to her as she moved as far as she could from him. Her eyes were wide, and they widened when her back hit the wall and she was left powerless before him. He took in her breathless appearance, and took one more step towards her.

They were nearly chest to chest now, and it seemed his closeness and emotionless eyes heightened her body temperature and made her palms sweat. He stared down at her, gaze passing from one blue eye to the other, looking at her golden hair and her partly open mouth as she took in sharp breath after the other.

His tongue flicked over his lips, and she did not miss the motion.

When he spoke, his voice was low, hoarse, in a way that reminded her of Marth's sated drawl after love. "Are you well, Miss Harnian?"

His warm breath fanned over her face and made her flush even more. What was this madness?

He didnot move still, and they stood face to face, nearly nose to nose. She could not understand where her annoyance with him had gone. It seemed all she could think of then was how close he was, and how easy it would be for him to take her.

His thoughts seemed to go in the same direction, and, as though he was straining himself, he moved away, averting his gaze.

"I meant," he almost choked, and he coughed to clear his throat, "That was my gun you held. Perhaps… You were not thinking of using it, were you?"

She could not find words, and instead shook her head slowly, eyes still wide, like a doe's. Her lips were still parted, luscious. He forced himself to look away and busy himself. He wished to fill the space between them. He found nothing else but words to fit his purpose.

"I…" he started, struggling against the tight grip of his entrails, "I saw you with… I thought you were going to…"

"I didn't mean to aim for you," she said, hastily, large eyes bluer than ever before.

"I… feared you should misaim and…"

They both lapsed into uncomfortable silence. It lasted a long, long moment as they lost themselves in their own thoughts. Then, the privateer captain ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair and let out a shaky breath.

"I apologize for not answering your question earlier." He pulled the chair she had seated herself on before over to her. She took it, feeling her legs were weaker since his intrusion. Once he was assured she would not faint—it seemed she was made of sterner stuff, thankfully—the captain made his way to the other side of the table, so they'd at the very least have the reassuring length of wood between them, and sat. "You asked me if I would rebel against her Majesty's fleet."

Senses slowly returning, she nodded, and her brow furrowed. Had he simply forgotten her presence, back in the little cabin?

"In truth, Milady," the privateer said, seeming to be regaining his senses as well, "I do not intend to attack my home nation's fleet. I do, however, intend to take down one of our Majesty's privateering frigates."

The lady said nothing, feeling as though he would not give her more information than he wished, no matter what her questions may have been. The handsome captain seemed lost in thought.

"The man's name is Knil Drake," Link Forster said. "Written with a k," he specified, as though she cared, "but pronounced like 'knee'." Then he frowned and glanced at the ornate pistol she had been handling before, as though to seek inspiration for a long explanation. Finally, he seemed to give up and said, to the lady, "His name on the ocean is that of Sea Devil, and his best coup was against the _Lune Empress_, on the eastern seas, many years ago." The captain's tone turned sour, then softened before she could ask him why.

He said, "It is not known by most civilians, but in the domain, his feats are as impressive as they are feared and synonymous with death. Of late, whispers say he has gathered many riches and could afford to become mercenary. Already he's placed a greedy hand on many of the home nation's ship cargos, and reported them to the capital to his name."

When she opened her mouth to speak, he said, answering her question before she could ask it, "He terrifies all crews. His presence at sea is as threatening as the deadliest storm brewing. His only scruple is to avoid killing his fellow privateer-captains, in order to avoid demotion. Even so," Link Forster looked angry and disgusted, "he never hesitates to steal merchandise from them for his own profit, and the lives of those he steals from are exchanged for their silence."

"But can no one resist him?" Zelda Harnian asked.

Link Forster shot her a small, mirthless smile. To answer simply, he said, "The _Lune Empress_' crew resisted and was brutally murdered; the ship itself pillaged before being sunk to the depths." His smile melted, and his voice seemed weakened. "None remain of the _Lune_'s crew."

The lady watched the captain's tight-lipped frown and asked, incredulous, "How—Do the authorities not know of this?"

Link Forster's smile returned, still as mirthless as before, this time with a touch of irony in it that she could not miss. She found this smile displeased her very much, and she found it was very unlike him, and it unsettled her.

The privateer said, "Oh, they know, my lady. But what are they to do? Law should protect their fleet. They hate the idea of ridding the sea of the _HMS Hammer_. Imagine the dishonour for the nation, a nation who could not even keep its captains on a leash? A scandal. Asides, their hands are bound. Knil Drake may be the most immense bastard on the seas, he is still one of the best privateers and captains there is. What is a mere fleet to do against such a reputed and feared monster?"

The captain's tone had risen as he had said the words. He took a deep breath and settled down again. "Yes, my lady, they know. That is never enough."

She observed the privateer and wondered quite how much of his speech has gone unspoken, or had to be read between the lines.

Then, his eyes slid over the surface of the table and met hers, with their sharp, recognizable blue, and her heart rose to her throat.

As she realized that she was still only wearing her night clothes.

As though he could sense her sudden embarrassment, and completely against his will, the captain's eyes fell down to her bare shoulder. It seemed that sleeve never held up on that silky skin of hers, and his fingers itched to brush a gilded lock away from her neck, to see if her pulse was visible under her pale complexion.

She stood, and with the weak light from the windows that was so filtered by the unusually thick fog outside, it seemed she had become sagely and experienced, and by that, far more attractive than before. He remained motionless, though he was feeling less than torpid at the moment.

"And now," she said, "I ought to find some… more suitable clothes." Spots of pink had appeared on her cheekbones, and she looked beautiful. "That is," she said, "if you are quite finished with the book reading."

"I am," he assured her, though he fleetingly thought of asking to stay as she changed. Never mind that, he had a greater sense of honour to compensate for the lecherous way his mind kept urging him on to dangerous paths of thought.

With a tight-lipped smile, she moved into the small cabin and closed the door behind her. Outside the windows, it seemed the fog had thickened, and there seemed to be a shadow that surrounded them, bathing the whole ship in an eerie shade.

Link Forster looked over to the pistol she'd been handling, and wondered where and how she had learned to aim a firearm. He also smirked when he pulled the rumpled, small letter she had been keeping since she'd boarded the _HMS Medallion _out of his coat pocket.

He had been surprised not to find it within the cabin, actually. He had honestly meant to look through registries, but had suddenly been struck by the lucky opportunity to search for the intriguing note. As he had feared, she apparently kept it with her at all times. Truly, did this woman not trust anyone?

Evidently, she had made the appropriate decision, considering his quest, yet Link Forster found the determination to extract the letter from her against her notice.

In the end, old talents and new seduction had done the trick.

With detached interest, the privateer unfolded it carefully and scanned the lettering.

'My dearest Zelda,' he read with a sudden bitter taste in his mouth, 'How my heart aches to think of you leaving for so far a place…'

The more the captain read, and the more he grasped how much the letter meant to Zelda. This did not keep him from feeling righteous and possessive. Perhaps the lady did not consider the captain a protector, but he allowed himself that little fantasy.

'With love,' the captain finally finished the reading of the distasteful prose, to his relief, 'Marth d'Altea.'

His brow furrowed, trying to remember the name, but found he could not. Perhaps this Marth person was merely one of those new-rich sons with enough money to pretend but not enough to maintain. His lips stretched into a nasty smirk again, feeling giddy with the mental destruction of the stranger.

Then again, perhaps the man was something to look at, if he could seduce a beauty like the lady Zelda Harnian.

Link Forster folded the letter, stumbling back to contemplation.

He observed the thick, ominous fog outside with a growing sense of anxiety, but his mind kept returning to the young woman. The ship's creaks seemed louder, disturbing his thoughts.

The lady seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders. Surely she'd have known better than to fall for a betrothed man, wouldn't she? Unless d'Altea had been sneaky enough to deceive the fair-haired beauty, the captain could not explain the mystery.

He was so focused on his thoughts to notice that the lady was back in the room and had seen him with the letter. Her face was pale and drawn, eyes pained. He noticed she had pulled on a bluish grey dress that still outlined her bosom perfectly—he couldn't help it, really!—and had tied her hair summarily, loosely enough that some strands still fell to frame her face.

No matter the level of letting-go she allowed herself, the captain found her still as stunning.

"He was the one who taught me to aim," the lady said, softly, eyes glazing over.

The privateer said nothing, unsure of what to say, which was happening all-too often of late, especially in her presence.

"I knew he was to be married," she said, voice breaking. "But he showed me such kindness… He kept me company when my Uncle and his father had hunting afternoons. And he showed me how to aim and fire. He was so steadying, so warm, so soft, and after a few months… I couldn't help it."

Link Forster, at that moment, felt shared between comforting Zelda and calling her a poor fool. Men did not fall in love so easily. It was lust that bound them to a woman without complaint in the first instances.

While Link had known many women, he was unsure of how a woman fell in love. In his opinion, they allowed it far too soon and easily, and thus were broken before their time. A woman in love could be far more beautiful than a woman in lust, but in turn unrequited lust never hurt much more than a needle prick.

Instead of telling her the words that scorched his throat, the captain said, "I'm sorry."

"Have you ever loved before, captain?" She asked, eyes distant as she avoided his questioning gaze. She too seemed to notice the fog outside, though it did not seem to worry her as much as it made him feel antsy. There was slight commotion coming from the deck outside.

He observed her, and said, truthfully but without visible emotion, "Never, my lady."

"Can men love, captain?"

"I'm afraid they can, the poor saps," the privateer said with a weak smile. "But only when their time comes."

The lady nodded, as though she accepted this. Her mouth opened again to ask him something, but a knock resounded at the door to the quarters, and the privateer frowned, feeling as though the growing uneasiness that had pulled at his gut all morning was at last going to have something to be directed at.

"Come in," he said, and the lady closed her mouth demurely.

In the creaks of the ship, a tall, lanky looking man entered. His eyes were sharp and he seemed to be the type to keep calm as necessary, though he was breathless. Zelda Harnian did not know his name or face, but the captain acknowledged him with a nod.

"Mikau."

"Capt'n." He did not wait for Link Forster to question him. Apparently there was commotion on the deck and the lady felt the agitation get to her suddenly, like a handful of cold water. " 'Tis the _Hammer_, sir. It's appeared from the fog! We couldn't—It was—silent—It's—"

It seemed then that the world blew, as though a cue had been given and the previous semblance of silence turned to chaos. There were shouts and cannons firing. The ship suddenly seemed to groan loudly and there were loud snaps and screams from somewhere below. The captain's eyes widened. He uttered a curse that would burn any proper lady's ears.

"Mikau," he said, "keep her safe!"

With those words, the captain holstered his gun and made to run out of the quarters, all the while cursing fog and gut feelings. He knew Mikau would keep the lady safe, but for how long? His worst fear had come to life. Of all the times and travels, did it truly have to be this once?

There was a struggle on the deck, but the fog was so thick he hardly saw what was happening ahead. Immediately he took out one of the men he did not recognize. Surely, it was one of those who had boarded his frigate.

Anytime now he'd come face to face with the man he despised most, and he knew that his crew's experience far outweighed his own. He should have known.

He should have known the Sea Devil never let his guard down. And that was why he barely had time to take out his pistol and aim at his opponent's face before he froze and saw the inside of a pistol cannon identical to his that bore the initials 'K. D.'

Knil Drake.

* * *

**That's part two! Review if you liked!**

**Love,  
CM**


	3. Ambivalent Counterparts

**Oi, I'm back! In light of my holiday, I've been given the time to finish this chappie! More to come, obviously, but I can't give you a precise date.**

**In case some are wondering, yet again, don't worry, I'm not dropping this. I've got the outline planned out. I'm expecting another two parts, maybe, one of which is sort of a concluding chapter.**

**If you're reading this, I'd also like to suggest that you try out some of my more recent oneshots, in case you haven't tried them out. There's a Zeldark centric ficlet, _Shades of Deception_, which I so obviously overrated because I was feeling prim that day, and there's _There Was_, a cute modern piece for the pairing of your choice. And there's also _Freak_, a modern Zelink oneshot, in which Zelda kinda lusts after that hot blonde copier repair guy. Try 'em out and give me a word, will ya?**

**Now, as for this chapter, do enjoy.**

**Warning: Meh. **Seduction**, but honestly. It's nothing new, aye?**

**In case you don't remember, Link and Knil are facing off on the _Medallion_'s deck.**

**Privateer  
Part 3: Ambivalent Counterparts  
By CM**

"Drake," Link Forster growled, arm outstretched with his finger tightening on the trigger, even as he was met with a dark haired, sharp-eyed privateer captain. The two looked strikingly similar in their form and age, but at the same time were complete opposites. The thing that was most alike in their appearance was their set eyes, as deep black fiercely met vivid blue.

"Well, well," Knil Drake drawled with a playful smirk, even as they both steadily aimed for the other's face with their twin pistols. "If it isn't the _Lune _child. It's been a while, aye?"

"Far too short a time," Link Forster ground out, sending his motionless adversary the most malevolent glare he could muster. "I'd have sunk my ship myself had I known."

"Clearly," Knil Drake laughed in amusement, "that simply proves you haven't changed since the _Empress_. Still so darned stubborn, aye? Still ready to die, aye?"

Motion slowed down on the foggy _Medallion_'s deck. Knil Drake's crew had eased all of the assaulted ship's rebellious crewmen to stillness. There was a breathless pause, and though Knil cocked his head amusedly, his gun-wielding hand did not waver.

Fury filled Link Forster like never before. His hand shook, and his finger tightened and loosened over the trigger.

"Shoot, coward," Knil snickered, and Link froze in remembrance. Hatred flowed through his veins faster than blood, and yet he could not muster the energy to pull on the trigger. He cursed himself for his recurrent weakness. Knil did not miss the many emotions that flitted across Link's vengeful face.

_Shoot, coward_, the words replayed, and two younger voices said them within their minds.

"Drive a bullet through me head," Knil Drake said, daring Link to shoot again.

Link's arm was cramping from the sheer tension he put onto his muscles, and his finger twitched over the trigger but did not pull. He gritted his teeth, feeling murderous but unable to act on it.

_Drive a bullet through me skull_, he heard a cruel child say inside, beyond the realm of a few years. _Avenge him._

"Can't shoot?" Knil Drake asked, eyebrow raised in an interested manner. "Can't keep to promises, Forster?"

_Avenge him._

Link, for all his ability, was unable to pull the trigger. This would be the end of him. Knil's hand still had not wavered.

For heaven's sake, _avenge him_, fool!

"Father…" Knil said, his smirk turning ironic, as though he was trying to bait Link into surrendering. "Remembering your father, _Lune_ child?"

Link Forster pulled on the trigger, blind with rage. There was a loud crack and a detonation.

Link felt himself being shoved aside, and he fell, weakened and stunned. He was still seething, and somehow the fact that Knil Drake had deviated his gun barrel with a simple nudge of his own gun-wielding arm as Link had been pulling on the trigger did not surprise the _Medallion_'s captain.

Curses…! The young privateer thought to himself angrily as he glared hatefully at the dark-haired young man standing above him.

The other captain merely shot him a smug, disdainful look.

"You haven't changed, Forster," he started, and he seemed like he would bother himself with a speech, but he got distracted by a struggle that was occurring at the corner of his eye. He casually looked over to the quarter doors and raised one of his brows.

The _Hammer_'s captain was handsome in a way similar to Link Forster, though his gait transmitted more disdain than friendliness. His facial features too were sharp, but in a focused, assassin-like way. It seemed his eyes were narrower, his brows more furrowed, and he looked at others from below them rather than straight on.

He also handled a weapon with more ease than most and less respect than anyone.

Annoyed at the interruption, Knil Drake was ready to shoot the disturbances in cold blood, before he saw just what was ongoing. His eyes, to Link Forster's dread, became interested, though not matter-of-factly.

The look he gave the struggling lady Zelda Harnian was many things, but it was not one of propriety.

"Don't you dare—" Link Forster growled in warning, but Knil Drake merely looked back at the privateer sprawled on the ship's deck and snickered.

Aiming his pistol at the _Medallion_'s captain, he motioned for his crewmen to bring the lady closer.

When she was close enough to see Link Forster at gunpoint, she stopped her struggle instantly. She had been violently dragged, despite Mikau's best attempts, onto the deck by two burly men. They had not had any qualms about mishandling her, and she was certain one of them had taken the leisure to brush her chest before grabbing her arm and putting, she was sure, a massive bruise on her pale limb.

Nevertheless, she was a stubborn woman, and had struggled as much as she could. She had proudly sent one of them cussing after biting their filthy hands. She had knocked one of them in the leg and stomach with two well-placed kicks.

But the monsters had grabbed her nape and pulled her hair, pushing her to her knees. Her legs buckled under her, and she found herself unable to move.

Thus, she was kneeling on the wet, foggy deck, hearing more than seeing the chaos around her, hands pulled up, but head pushed down. Humiliated and frightened tears had found their way to her eyes. She could hear gunshots. None of this had Marth ever mentioned. He'd spoken of battles as epic adventures, ones to woo a lover with tales of bravery.

This… This was not what Marth had described. This fear, this helplessness, this overwhelming powerlessness had never been mentioned.

Oh, how she hated Marth at this instant! How she ought to have stayed home! A lifetime of rejection would be better than this uncertainty, this knowledge that one could be alive now and dead the next instant.

Suddenly, she felt herself being roughly pulled up and dragged more than walked along. She tried to wriggle out of their firm grasp and sent a kick flying, but it touched nothing solid.

Her eyes flew up to look at where men were taking her. She saw Link Forster, splayed on the deck, staring straight into the cannon of a gun. The gun itself looked strikingly like the handsome captain's.

Thus, he was helpless as she!

The tears fell over her cheeks. Now she had been stripped of her pride, and it was a horrible feeling, like she was bare to all eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, the two thugs let go of her, and she crumpled, barely catching herself on her hands and knees. Her breath came in short gasps, and the sheer panic made her wonder which side to escape to.

Before she could move, however, a long, thin, oddly gentle finger came to lift her chin. She found herself looking into a pair of beautiful and deep black eyes. Her breath caught, and more tears spilled.

"Now, now," a smooth, almost seductive voice said, unbelievably close to her, sending dread into her veins, "why the tears? Have you been so mistreated by my men?"

She did not respond, mesmerized beyond all comprehension. A sob and gasp shook her, feeling more humiliated tears pearl down her cheeks. The gentle finger under her chin moved, and traced a pattern to wipe one of them off. It was a slow, deliberate movement, and she felt how cold the finger was, despite its smooth and lulling caress.

"Worry not," the voice said through her haze, "I'll have them severely punished for your affront."

"Don't touch her!"

The sudden shout violently pulled her out of her daze, and seemed to call the black eyes' attention.

She turned her head and saw the handsome blonde captain looking murderous. For a moment, she thought the anger was aimed at her. Then, she peered at the man who had softly handled her and was shamed to think of him as seductive and darkly handsome as well.

"Now, Forster," the man said, "I kindly visit your ship and you don't even take out the silverware." He glanced at the lady. "Perhaps you ought to give me the honours of taking replacement?"

"She isn't yours!" The _Medallion_'s captain said, loudly, furiously.

"Oh?" The black-eyed man looked down at the blonde, ragged beauty, and smirked suggestively, "But she doesn't seem taken, aye? I could make her one of my mistresses. I lost count of the numerous Misses Knil Drake already."

Her eyes widened and she visibly moved backward, though not much. He was still armed and his gun could turn onto her at any given time.

"You… You're…"

The dark eyed man smiled broadly, but it was not a motion than sent her heart a-tingle. Instead, it made horrified shivers trail down her spine.

"My reputation precedes me, I see. Well enough," he said, bringing a hand to caress her cheek and hold her hair, to her trembling disgust. He brought his face close to hers and breathed, hotly, almost on her lips, "I have a feeling you and I shall enjoy our nights, woman."

She wanted to faint.

"Get away from her!" Link Forster said, enraged. A gunshot rang out in the stillness. All combats had already ceased and both crews, hostages and gaolers alike, were watching the unfolding events. At the gunshot, all had jumped, startled and taken short.

Link Forster stared in shock at the deep hole the bullet had dug just over his shoulder, as it had whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in the wood with a loud crack.

Knil Drake let the gun fume and glared at the weaker captain. "Silence! Lest you want me to help you become the next _Lune_." The last bit was added with a particular venomous edge.

The threat sent a shiver into all the witnesses' stance. It seemed as though this was a rare threat on the _Hammer_ captain's part. And the _Lune Empress_' tragic end was a secret to no one.

Satisfied that Link Forster had been silenced for the time being, Knil Drake turned back to the lady, who was looking pale and ill. He noticed that she hadn't quite paid heed to his threat. He approached his face from hers and saw she was in shock. Not one to care much—women were far easier to manipulate when like this—he asked, "Did Forster tell you about the _Lune Empress_, by any chance?"

She looked at the dark-haired man with a mix of horror and hate. Because she was unable to summon words in her fear, she nodded weakly. She was getting light-headed and was on the verge of fainting.

"Did he ever tell you about his implication in the actual events?" The cruel privateer asked, lulling her with dagger-sharp but sweetly said words.

She shook her head, and the motion made her feel like all her blood had left her head and was sinking in her knees and stomach, uselessly. The world spun around her, and dark spots appeared in her vision.

The dark-haired captain, seeing she would not hold for long, smirked, and said, "If he does not die today, you'll ask him about the Twin Pistols."

She heard a loud crack, a thud. The captain in front of her grunted, and she heard no more. She collapsed.

* * *

Zelda Harnian awoke to sounds of cheering that came from far away and below deck. She was feeling awful and her stomach immediately growled that she was famished. Her mouth was dry and tasted bitter. Her hands were weak and her legs, she knew, would be unable to support her weight if she chose to stand.

Her ears hurt to hear, and her eyes refused to open. When they did, it sent the bright daylight pouring into her head, hammering painfully. She had to shut her eyes and let out an uncharacteristic groan.

Then, the lady remembered.

She lay on the bed with shut eyes, fists unconsciously tightening on the sheets. She tried to recall more than those last instants before her mind closed off. To her terror, she could not remember ever being transported to this bed, much less if anything else had occurred since.

Without daring to open her eyes again, for fear of making them sting again, and for fear of seeing her bodily state, she tried to understand her situation.

Aside from the sharp pain in her skull, probably a consequence of her fainting and hitting something, she felt no other ache, dull or sharp, anywhere. She prayed that this was a good sign. She'd heard stories of women whose aching bodies were ominous tales of horrible treatments.

Where was she? She had been blinded before by the light and had not been able to recognize her whereabouts.

Somewhere, far off, there were loud cheers. Her mind raced. Only a live and well crew could celebrate thus. This lead to an obvious conclusion: she was on the victor's ship.

The lady was beginning to feel ill.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, the lady felt tears come up when the pain of daylight burned her again. Ignoring those stubbornly, she pushed herself up. She was feeling numb and stiff, but no pain shot in her body. It was a relief.

Then, her eyes darted around. They'd adjusted to the brightness and she found that the room she lay in was unfamiliar. It could hardly be called a room, in truth, as the light that blinded her came from the opening in the grate above her. She could smell the sea air coming in from there and the fresh, minuscule droplets of spray on her face. She lay on a bed, a rare thing, in truth, and it was a closed room, save for a door on the far side. The cheering came from beyond and below. This ship had, it seemed, two under-decks, not counting the bilge.

Just like Link Forster's ship, she thought with a sinking feeling.

The ship itself creaked, and she heard the large sails flap in the strong wind, outside.

Pushing to her feet, the lady Zelda Harnian felt instantly dizzy. She fell back, somewhat, waiting for her usual steady foot to return. Then, she stood once more. It was a painful exercise, she decided, to attempt movement after a long instance of unconsciousness.

Gazing round, the lady decided she was somewhere in the ship's body in the stead of comfortably tucked away within the captain's cabins near the stern. Under her bare feet, the floors creaked and groaned, hoisted by the sea and bothered by her weight. She squinted, feeling the sun and fresh wind blow hair into her face. What sort of room was this, that one would trap an unconscious woman at the mercy of a possible storm or even to the cold ocean water?

Evidently, she admitted to herself, it was not a particularly displeasing feeling, and it had helped clear her head of its previous headache, but it was undoubtedly a very unorthodox method.

There were more cheering sounds. The lady shivered with anxiety and made for the door, cautious.

As fate would have it, she now desired nothing more than to be on the receiving end of one of Link Forster's jests, if that should signify she was safe again. Quite evidently, she had instead been taken away—or so she determined—and was now in an unknown amount of danger.

The lady contemplated this as she reached out to graze the doorknob with the tip of her fingers.

And, as fate should have it, the door opened before her eyes, and revealed the most beautiful sight she could ever imagine, let alone wish for.

"Milady. You are awake?"

Standing in the doorway, looking stunned, was Link Forster, and he looked completely unscathed. The mere sight of him sent her heart into a tizzy, and she felt her pulse grow erratic shamelessly.

If Link Forster had known quite how much she desired to throw her arms around his neck to sob with relief, he wouldn't have let the corner of his lip quirk upward to smirk, nor would he have said, in that voice which she was beginning to find uncannily soothing and which she was growing to fancy, "I hadn't expected you to be up and about quite so soon. Can't say I'm disappointed, though."

Incomprehension at his untimely survival flooded her thoughts, but all she could do in that moment was stand motionless, in shock, as her eyes welled up with tears and as she drank in the sight of the handsome privateer captain.

Then, she asked, "How…?"

Link Forster, his expression growing grave, looked away from her and smiled faintly. "You fainted. I used the distraction to knock Drake out." He looked thoroughly annoyed, then. "I must apologize for my inability to keep you out of danger."

Her breath hitched, and her cheeks flushed. How strange. She hadn't grown red since the time Marth had first laid his eyes on her.

If the privateer captain noted this, he did not comment upon it.

"Where is he now?" The lady suddenly asked.

Link Forster shot her a tiny frown. He motioned for her to seat herself on the bed. She reluctantly returned to the cot. Her straight-backed stature had come back, but she was surprised to notice he was as tense as she, which was, she hated to admit, rather alarming.

"Captain?" She softly asked.

To the lady's surprise, the handsome privateer let out a low breath and sat heavily beside her. The bed creaked under the added weight, but he didn't seem to acknowledge it.

Unaccustomed to his familiarity and closeness, which she'd only experienced a select number of times prior and which made her infallibly uncomfortable, the lady's shoulders tensed.

He shot her a sideways look, as though he could guess her every thought. "Milady, I must ask that you be wary of Knil Drake." He looked around the room. "I had him shackled in the lowest under-deck. We've split his crew up and are taking the _Hammer_ along with us." His eyes stopped to look out the grate opening. "Because of this, half my crew is unavailable for your protection. I therefore had you moved to my quarters and locked in."

The Lady Zelda Harnian's eyes widened, and her gaze grew accusing. Before she could say a word, he took hold of her arm, his grip on her tight. It had been quick, and it was stinging. When she gasped in pain and fear, he hissed, in her face, uncomfortably close "Do not lend me impure thoughts, Milady. I did it for your safety, and I needed my own quarters for discussions. But so help me, I will not allow you to be nearly taken away again."

Both their pulses were quick as they breathed harshly. There was something raw between them that put the lady ill at ease. It was an exacerbated variant of the passion she had felt for and from Marth, though this was unbridled, coarse, and she felt it blaze beneath her skin, under his burning fingers.

The lady winced, and he noticed her furrowed brow and clenched teeth. Eyes falling to the bruise he was giving her, the privateer blanched and let go of her, as though he'd been singed.

She stood and moved away from him. Neither dared a look in the other's direction. For the longest time, they struggled to regain their senses. Finally, Link Forster rose to his feet.

He cleared his throat, but found nothing to say. She did not turn. She did not seem to expect him to speak.

"My apologies," he finally said, his voice a mere whisper.

The lady did not respond. She did not turn when he quitted her, no, _his_ quarters.

Then, letting out the pained tear that had been welling in her eye, she let out a sharp, relieved breath. Never mind her earlier thoughts. This captain was a threatening fellow after all, not for his violent passion, but rather for the energy he transmitted her, and she cursed herself for allowing her harsh demeanour to soften in his presence, against her will.

Her thoughts wandered to the other captain. The one Link Forster had shackled and stored within the ship's hold. In that instant, she wondered if perhaps Knil Drake would have put her in the same conditions.

Perhaps it would be a truth to say that the lady could not, after Link Forster's intense welcome, think clearly. It would also be likely that she was torn between a twisted captivation for the dark-haired privateer and an obvious terror at the seductive and cruel words he spouted constantly.

Thus, though she had just now been warned, the lady left the room, which Link Forster had not locked again. He was nowhere in sight, and this she considered a blessing for her frazzled nerves.

Indeed, the crew was celebrating, she found out. Most of them had passed out, and thus she could pass them by and head for the narrow, steep staircase. They did not even acknowledge her.

At first, Zelda Harnian hesitated, frightened that someone should take notice of her. She also feared the questions that could be asked, the strange insinuations or assumptions that would be made. It was with anxiety that she descended to the lowest deck, ears and eyes ready to spot any onlooker.

She did not understand the strange desire that had taken her. It was an odd mixture of fear, perversion and fascination. She knew she was making a foolish decision but refused—and thought impossible—the idea of turning back.

The privateer Knil Drake, had, it was clear, terrified and seduced her all at once, and it was this she understood when her borrowed boots touched the ship's bottom and she found that in the arching and dark, bilge-water had gathered, smelling awfully bad. She paused, sensing that the water and slime would make it difficult to walk.

Her head turned in the near-blackness when she overheard the ringing of chain links.

Last, there he was now, sitting on a wooden supporting bow. Around them, the ship creaked and waves hammered its sides in a low, continuous flop. Here, though, the only thing making evident noise was the bilge swaying in time with the vessel, but it stayed in the lower curve at the centre of the hull.

If the fallen captain had noticed her, he gave no indication of it. He merely sat, looking particularly deplorable, curled so his chin rested on the side of his knee, dark hair falling over his eyes. She could not see, in the gloom, whether he was awake or not. The chain, shackled to his foot, looked heavy. He stayed clear of the filthy water sloshing where she stood.

Carefully, she moved towards him, and still he did not stir.

When at last she was before him, his voice surprised her. He sounded tired and hoarse.

"What may I do for you?" This had been spoken lowly, as though he hadn't eaten in days. He smelled rather foul, much like the whole area here, and dark stubble had grown on his chin. Despite that, when they met hers his eyes shone mockingly. "Came to see me for the cheer of it?"

She ignored his self-mocking tone and asked, "Is this the first time you get caught?"

He smirked, looking somehow disgusted. "Aye." His eyes surveyed her. "I won't mind so much if you feed me good with your fingers though."

She shuddered, but did not back away from him. Here she confronted a shackled murderer and yet she avoided a passionate but harshly spoken captain.

The dark-haired privateer's gaze ran over her form hungrily, but did not seem satisfied.

"What do you want?" He asked, bluntly, unnerved that she had not taken food with her.

The lady found she did not know. He saw it and scoffed.

"Could it be the beauty should not know what she wants from a man?" He closed his eyes and said, in a different tone, "Did the _Lune_ child send you here?"

"Why do you refer to Captain Forster thus?" She asked, her voice wavering. She was shamed to sense her anxiety.

The dark haired privateer shot her a condescending smile, quite the feat if one considered his situation. He sat straighter now, vaguely amused. "He didn't tell you, lass?" Before the lady could reply, he shrugged one of his square but narrow shoulders and said, "Not quite the glossiest time of his life, I do suppose." He chuckled to himself.

"Why do you sport the same pistol as he?" She asked again, slowly remembering the endless number of questions she had. "How do you know him? How did he—"

"Quiet," Knil Drake barked, glaring at her. "It ain't nothin' of your business, woman, if the man ain't the guts to tell you himself. Then again," he smirked mirthlessly, "I do suppose he's never been much of a completely fearless sort. Piteous slob," he added, as an afterthought.

The lady did not move. Noticing she had not been frightened by his outburst, the dark haired privateer motioned with one hand for her to get closer. She took a careful step in his direction, but stopped out of his reach.

"Curious, lass?" This once he spoke with a low, seductive growl. "I can tell you everything you ought to know 'bout Forster, for a price."

"Price?" Her voice was weak now. Her strength had deserted her; she felt herself fall beside him. To her horror, she was within reach and he could at any moment take a hold of her and have his way if he so pleased, and this made her curse herself. Her prime instinct was to break away from his presence, but he was enthralling and he had not yet moved a finger near her.

The privateer-captain smirked, but made no motion.

"I'll make fair with you," he said slowly, appraising the way her chest swelled in the tight corset with her every breath in the gloom. His hand reached out to finger a stray lock of her hair, and his lips stretched into a controlled but distinctly feral smile. "I tell you the story, woman, and I'll give you my price at the end of the tale."

She did not move, breath coming a bit faster now, from the fear of his proximity.

"Will you sign a pact with the Sea Devil?" He asked, beguiling, and she instantly nodded, feeling light-headed and dizzy.

With a smirk, he leaned towards her. She realized now that she could not escape. He took a hold of the chain that bound his foot and, surprisingly gently, wound it around her leg, which he took great pleasure in uncovering. He removed the boot and her bare foot appeared. He pushed her skirts up slowly, so that the folds ended at her knees, revealing the indecent, long pale limbs. She did not move as his fingers played on the pale skin of her ankle, but her breath hitched when he placed a seductive kiss at the back swell of her left shin.

When he moved away slightly, his rusty chain bound her and it hurt somewhat, but he trailed a single finger down her leg and she shivered and all the discomfort subsided, replaced by the impression of bordering pleasure and horror.

"You want to know 'bout Forster, aye?" He smirked and spoke under his breath.

To her relief, he pulled away.

"Before we start," he said, examining her face, subdued now that he was in power, "Have you heard of the _Lune Empress_ at all?"

She nodded slowly, nursing her pale ankle.

"Did you know, then," Knil Drake asked, "that Link Forster was the son of the _Lune Empress_'captain?" At her surprise, he chuckled. "It's not a thing he likes to talk 'bout, seems. But he was." The dark privateer squinted, trying to recall something. "The man's name was Raven Forster."

He looked back at the blonde beauty sitting beside him in a half daze. "And Raven Forster took Knil Drake as his son."

"He took you—" The lady looked stunned. How, indeed, could he and Link Forster have been raised by the same person? It was preposterous!

"Aye," Knil Drake laughed, but his laugh held no warmth. "His wife was fruitless after her first child, and he wished for a playmate for his son." He scoffed again. "I don't think the old man was all sober when he took me in."

The lady gazed at the privateer's profile. "He was a drunkard?"

Knil Drake laughed to himself. "Nay, nay, lass. He wasn't all clean but he was a good 'un." His face darkened. "Too good, really. It was sickening."

"And… Captain Forster… Link Forster. How was he, as a child?" The lady asked, softly, unsure whether the agreement she had with Drake included her questions.

"He took 'fter his old man," Knil Drake grunted. "Cheery, open, loud, mischievous little bugger he was."

The lady smiled thinly, breath still somewhat hoarse. The captain-privateer noted it and said, "He was a year younger than me, and so I didn't want anything to do with 'im." Knil Drake furrowed his brows in thought. "Dun think he knew I hated 'im much."

"The pistols…" The lady asked, wondering if the two artefacts would be part of his tale sooner or later.

"Aye, the twins," Knil Drake nodded. "They came into play when the capt'n Raven Forster saw his son and his adopted son were driftin' apart." The dark-haired privateer shook his head derisively. "Old man had a couple of screws loose. We were busy docking and replenishing our supplies, and when he convoked us to 'is cabins, he gave us both a pistol. He told us they were sturdy and that we'd be bound to each other so long as they remained intact."

"Raven Forster was the one who gave you the pistols?" The lady asked, dumbfounded.

Knil Drake turned to gaze at the beautiful captive at his side. Both knew she was not truly bound. The chain was merely symbolically wrapped around her foot, and she could escape. He wondered why she had not.

"By the time I received the pistol, I already had other allegiances, woman, and the old man was of no more use to me."

Moving towards her, he placed a hand beside her thigh, moving so that he gazed in her large, surprised blue eyes.

"Have you ever held a pistol, milady?" He asked in a seductive growl.

She nodded, recalling the times Marth had trained her, and remembering her first experience of one of the twin pistols. She still blushed in embarrassment to think of it, but this time the look the privateer was giving her made her warm at the pit of her stomach.

If the captain-privateer took notice of her flush in the dim lighting, he did not mention it.

"Have you ever experienced the pure lunacy attached to that coiled power," he asked, "that fire not yet ignited?" He breathed, and he fascinated her. "Have you ever turned a barrel towards a living being knowing that a single flick of your finger can end all they've known?"

Her breath became visibly ragged, but she did not back away from him.

"I have," he said. "I have, woman, and I used it that very night, when we were out at sea. Oh, we weren't far from shore. The pistol I'd been gifted was only making the irony of their deaths more enticing.

"They fought back," he continued, "oh, how they fought back. But I slaughtered them all, lass, one by one, bullet after bullet."

"And the captain?" She asked in a breath. "His wife? His son?" Her voice wavered at the last question.

"Killed both the old man and his wife." Knil Drake said, enjoying the newfound fear so clearly written in her eyes. "By the time I came to kill the pitiful _Lune_ child, he was aiming at me with the copy of the pistol that had driven lead through his only family."

The lady had lost use of her words. She watched, entranced, as the dark-haired captain ran a long, slender finger up her arm. Horror mingled with captivation caused her to shiver.

"He couldn't shoot, even after I told him I had no more bullets." The privateer looked amused. "I told him to avenge his father, to drive his bullet through me skull. But he couldn't. So I left."

The lady frowned. "You left?"

The dark-haired privateer chuckled. "By dawn, both Forster and I were marred in the blood of the _Lune Empress_' crew. He swore to kill me one day, to bring me to justice. I stayed until dawn, lass, but he still didn't have it in 'im to shoot. At dawn, the _Hammer_, my new allegiance, appeared. I boarded, lass, and my new crew pillaged the _Lune_. Link Forster could not budge. I warned him, lass. But he wouldn't go."

The lady said nothing.

"And so," Knil Drake said, "I had the _Hammer_ sink the _Lune_. I've no bloody idea how the little bugger survived."

The silence after his statement was heavier than she could bear. Tears came forth on the lady's part. For the first time, she wept for another. She wept before the murderer of a hundred.

She felt fear invade her so powerfully that it was dread that crawled in her gut when he smiled lustfully and said, "And now, for my pains, I have right to a reward."

She would have probably fainted again if a sudden loud creaking and shuffling of cloth hadn't called their attention to the stairs. Her head whipped around, and she saw Link Forster descending the steps two by two, turning to glare in their direction as he reached the bottom loudly and angrily.

He stood there, seeing her pale leg bound by the rusting chain, and her dirtied dress and Knil Forster caging her aggressively.

Instantly, his foul mood turned to rage.

In a few strides, he'd moved over to them and roughly grabbed the other privateer's collar.

"Stay away from her," he commanded, almost spitting at the man's face, hardly containing his anger. "If you should not, I will have you executed."

"Will you?" The dark-haired privateer questioned. "I couldn't have gone to her anyhow. She came to me." He said it with a smugness that made Link Forster want to heave him overboard.

Link Forster looked at the lady Zelda Harnian as she unbound her leg and hobbled towards the stairs weakly. He was furious with her as well, but, at her sad gaze, he understood what had driven her here. His heart shuddered.

He dropped Knil Drake's collar, glared at him for good measure then returned to the staircase. He took the lady's shaking arm.

"It was a fair time seeing you, miss," Knil Drake called after her far too joyfully as she carefully climbed the stairs, aided by Link Forster. She looked back but said nothing and smiled none.

The blonde captain-privateer glowered at his smirking prisoner with barely hidden rage.

"I shall deal with you later," Link Forster said, though neither knew if that would be yet another an unfulfilled promise.

_Avenge him. Drive a bullet through me skull._

For the first time in his life, Link Forster wished nothing more but to obey Knil Drake's bribes.

* * *

**Well, it certainly looks like our stubborn and cold lady Zelda is weakening. I'll address this issue in the next chapter, so hold out until then!**

**Hm. I guess I'm kind of a sucker for Zeldark, and unconsciously too. Oh well. In a way I think it's because Dark Link would be much more entreprising and seductive than silent and honourablegood-boy Linkie. So theoretically Dark Link would for sure get with Zelda faster than Link.**

**But of course, that's assuming he doesn't terrify Zelda first, which is why she's still hanging on the good side of the good vs. evil coin.**

**Oh, ignore my ramblings and tell me what you think, okay?**

**Love,  
CM**


	4. Upsetting Restrictions

**Well, here's the "heaviest" chapter in the story, I guess.**

**I think you might enjoy this. ;)**

**This is the second-to-last chapter, so I do think I should get to thinking of my next story. Hmm...**

**Warning:** Naughty Link and Zelda**. Meh, like that's gonna stop you.**

**I just love Link acting subconsciously, the poor guy. ****Oh, and for those who are as annoyed by Link's "propriety" as I am, this chapter is a direct attack to all his resolve. I just love doing that. He's such an innocent do-gooder sometimes, but clearly he's gotta have needs. And forcing him out of his mind is lots, lots of fun. You should try it.**

**Heh!**

**Without further delay,**

**Privateer  
Part 4: Upsetting Restrictions  
By CM**

The lady ought to have expected the captain Link Forster to be upset with her. She had, after all, disobeyed his suggestions within the hour of her hearing them. Indeed, although Link Forster hadn't raised his voice, frustration radiated from his tense shoulders like heat.

If, however, she had known he would be upset enough to lock her in his quarters, with him still inside no less, she'd have taken a daring leap off the starboard.

What was this her Uncle had said? That the privateer-captain would not be dishonourable with her? The lady Zelda Harnian observed the man pacing before her in obvious unsettlement, and wished to thrust the picture in her Uncle's near-blind face.

What, after all, could possibly be more dishonourable than a disgruntled, sinfully handsome, half-bare man pacing barefoot around an unkempt bed on which a dainty lady sat?

Well, the lady considered, averting her eyes from the young privateer's toned chest, she would not be particularly upset for herself, but without doubt, one spread word of this and her reputation would be ruined in the New World as well. Why, a proper lady was not, by any means, supposed to be familiar with the male species at all, and therefore perish the thought of seeing bare, let alone bedding any said male.

She had not spoken out in outrage when he'd buttoned-down his vest, then removed it. She'd even managed to hold in her near-inaudible squeak of surprise when he'd unbuttoned his large undershirt and left it wide enough for her not to miss the beckoning expanse of hard stomach just above his waistband.

Oh, he'd done all this without truly thinking, clearly. He'd been muttering to himself the whole time, pacing back and forth, to and fro, mumbling incoherent threats towards the 'sea rat' he held prisoner in the ship's hold and running his hand through his unruly, fetching blonde hair. He'd even seemed to forget the Lady Zelda Harnian's presence, a shocking feat, considering that not even fifteen short minutes ago he'd shoved her none-too-gently down on his-formerly-hers-formerly-his bed in the quarters she'd first been appointed.

As she slowly grew impatient with Link Forster's angry antics, the lady chose to break the semi-silence. She'd grown accustomed to his provocative appearance, and so her voice did not quiver when she spoke and saw him turn to face her in mild surprise and annoyance.

"You said that none remained of the _Lune Empress_' crew," she said accusingly.

He seemed startled by her open discomfiture, and sighed.

In truth, Link Forster was at a loss of what to do. The lady had clearly disregarded his wiser suggestions and gone for a meeting with Knil Drake that she could have sorely regretted. He was unsure of what had caused the lady to grow so bold.

Or perhaps she had always been bold, and she had simply also been haughty about it. This time, however, she looked openly upset with him, but not condescendingly so.

Link Forster, though he had asked her to be this way in the beginning, also found that with her arrogance stripped away, the lady Zelda Harnian was even more attractive than before, and therefore had shortened his fuse and reduced him to a jealous mass of female-aware nerves.

Was there anyone but himself to blame really? He was the one who had her locked in here with him, and there she sat on his bed, light blue eyes glancing his way constantly, collar line lower than he'd remembered on her pale chest, and the memory of those long, white legs under the thick skirts, uncovered by that lecherous Knil Drake, flashed through his mind.

Was it therefore any surprise that the young privateer-captain, for all he thought holy, could not detach his mind from her bewitching appearance and her rapidly improving piquant temper?

Curse women, and curse Knil Drake all the more. Had the wretch not been so keen on understanding the lady's desires, Link Forster would not have been made aware of her numerous tempting features.

Like those legs, which came to his mind again, as though to taunt him and remind him that Knil Drake, that bastard, had had a soft taste of her when he, for the sake of being proper, had not.

Another question that came to his mind regarded his subsequent actions. In taking the trembling, shaken lady back to his ―well, her which were actually his― quarters, and in giving her a push so that she could sit on his-her-his bed, he'd been made aware that she was supple in some areas which his male mind had most certainly noticed but ignored ―for bloody propriety's sake― until then.

He was glad, in a way, that he shared not close quarters with her at all times. She'd have long made mortifying discoveries regarding his nights and dreams.

And so, when that perfect but upsetting voice of hers spoke and broke his train of thought, having clearly recovered from her earlier fright, he realized that he'd unconsciously unbuttoned his shirt, and that she now had a clear view of him. How very sticky, considering that he'd thought of seducing her for himself ever since that first day in the Lord Mayor's mansion and that subconsciously his body had partially gone through the motions whilst he was deep in thought.

Yet, blessed be the wicked creature, she had not questioned his respect for her long-protected eyes, but rather wondered at his tale.

"I did not lie," he said after a short pause, "when I said that none remain of the _Lune_'s crew. Neither Drake nor I were officers or seamen aboard it. Not officially so. And my young mind was deemed too affected for a proper trial witness. They would not hear me, and for all it was worth, it didn't matter. The _Lune_ was not from the home nation."

The lady stared at the privateer-captain's guarded expression. He'd answered her truthfully, but she guessed a sharp, pained undertone and bitterness at the turn of his fate.

"How…" She slowly started, "did you escape the wreckage?"

Link Forster sighed again, leaning back against the wall. He sought a way to button his shirt again without looking suspicious. To distract her, he crossed his arms and answered, "I was left to drift on pieces of the wreckage and washed up on shore. I don't know how long I laid there, but soon enough a man by the name of Kafei Dotour found me."

"I've never heard of him," the lady said, waiting for Link Forster to finish the tale Knil Drake had been unable to.

Link Forster looked at the young beauty sitting on his bed, contemplating the contrast between their first fiery encounters and their current soft, complementary conversation.

How the lady had come around to being this politely gentle rather than furiously withdrawn eluded him. He was loath to admit it only made her more attractive, more accessible, if possible. Her haughty rebuttals had been a tempting challenge, but this quiet, open kindness made her seem pure and he'd have sought solace in her without hesitation, if she hadn't still that spark of burning wit glowing in her eyes that would hurt if he dared approach her.

Never mind that flame that still burned behind a tamed mask. It made her glow.

"Kafei Dotour," the captain-privateer sighed, "was an officer for the home nation. Over all, the man was still young, experienced like two, he was amused easily, angered as easily, and he was the family I needed. He was the one who approved me for office, and he recommended my naming to the position of training warship captain."

Link Forster smiled in remembrance. "In my first years under his wing, before I was named to any position or even employed, he kept watch over me. He was a flame that cauterized wounds. I took my first drink of ale with him, and he watched over me like a father, but toyed with my temper like a brother. He tried to pay me a whore for the night of my sixteenth birth day, but I was too drunk for anything."

The privateer shot a glance to the lady, whose only reaction had been to raise a brow. With a somewhat vexing grin, the young officer said, "Worry not, Milady. My bettering looks ensured I caught some experience by-and-by."

The lady shot him a flat, scathing look, but he noted the corner of her lip was inexorably drawn upward, and she said, "I never once worried for your hidden talents, Captain, convinced as I was that would never have to experience them."

"Shame," the blonde privateer smiled, softly, then admitted, "My first impression of you was that of a delightful mistress."

She looked vaguely shocked, her voice losing some of its uptight dignity as she humouredly asked, "Oh? Mistress to whom, Captain?"

Recalling that he'd at first thought the woman to be the Lord Mayor's mistress or wife, and his consideration that he'd have made a better lover than the old man, Link Forster cleared his throat and laughed to himself. The lady heard his self-amused chuckle, and asked, her voice rising in indignation, "Captain! How could you think—I? … My Uncle, wasn't it? Oh, really!"

"How was I to know?" He asked, now laughing without much restraint, and his charming laughter forced a thin, held-back smile from her rose lips. "A beautiful, vital young woman surrounded by countless maids, dressed in the city's greatest fineries, walking in the grandiose mansion of the Lord Mayor, whose wife was not in town, looking so proper and hiding such a bright passion—was it really so far fetched? You were too beautiful to be blood related to the old, cruel scrooge, in my opinion."

Her eyes grew searching and somewhat tender. He found himself pinned under that gaze and he felt, suddenly, that if she dared ask him to throw himself overboard, or to disrobe himself entirely before his crew, he'd be inebriated enough to do her bidding.

Fortunately for his health and his reputation, she only asked, "Did you truly think that?"

Link Forster gazed at her, and said, "If I should be honest with you, milady, I was subjected to many thoughts concerning you and your acquaintances. As per the decision of your Uncle's, I saw your despair, and did not blame you once, though I was glad to take such a vision aboard my ship. I apologize for not keeping you away from Drake, as your Uncle demanded."

She stood, and his shoulders tensed. She did not seem to notice. With a few steps in his direction, she came to stand before him, as close as all those times when he'd have wished nothing more than to push her back onto his bed and make her sigh.

"Captain," she started, and the way she spoke his title sounded like a purr.

Link Forster, with a fatal drop of his heart into the pit of his rapidly heating stomach, knew her next words would be the end of him. He'd have to have been a complete fool not to know. How often should a woman purr his name to obtain his obedience, after all, when a mere look at her parted, moist lips was enough to weaken him? Her obvious use of her charms on him could not go unnoticed, much less be ignored.

She said, "Marth d'Altea's touch was pleasant and made me long. Knil Drake's lips were near scalding and made me breathless. They both chose to love and seduce me on their own accord, without much restraint." Her finger traced a soft path down the young captain's jaw line. "They simply took what they wished for." Her lips stretched into a minuscule smile. "They were both men, through and through, both made of the material of eternal lovers. Though one was deemed refined and the other coarse, I have had a taste of their respective hands, captain, against the will of my Uncle."

"He told me to protect you from such things," the privateer-captain insisted weakly with a pained, ragged breath. "He wanted to pay me for the service, but I told him I needn't be bought."

"Captain," she said, her breath heated against his collarbone. Curses. He'd forgotten to button his shirt, and now the finger she'd been trailing on his jaw had fallen to his stomach, in a sinuous, sensuous drag, making him tense and arousing lust with every nerve she brushed. "My Uncle did not stop me, and he was unable, even by sending me away, to keep me bound."

"Milady—" The captain-privateer began, but she slipped a pale, light hand under his shirt in his back, pulling herself close to him, and effectively silencing him.

"You have held back, captain," she said, "but so have I. A woman is not so helpless that she does not know what to elicit in a man. I must admit, if you first inspired me disinterest and wariness, I have nevertheless come to an understanding."

Her fingers ran over his lower spine, and he could not believe the woman he'd rescued from the lecherous Knil Drake was quite so capable with her hands. If anything, he ought to congratulate Marth d'Altea, the ass, for awakening this vixen.

Link Forster considered his options, and thought vaguely—she was pushing his shirt off his shoulders and the motion of her hands was rather distracting—that her every action indicated she desired him, that he was enough of a man to be aroused by this, but also that he could not bed this woman merely for the leisure of it.

Though it seared him to admit it, a single word of this spread would ruin her, degrade him, and push them both to the lowest ranks of society. The blatant change this would bring along would not, by any means, be justified by love or a desire to be alongside one another no matter the consequence.

Link Forster was not a fool. The lady was attracted to him, as he to her, by appearances alone. Yes, appearances alone. He could find a vast number of women who would be willing to pleasure him thus, as she could find any number of suitors and lovers to replace him. They could do all this, but not now, and not together.

He wanted to tell her all this. He wanted to tell her she would find another man, a husband perhaps. He sought the words to say he was only attracted to her pale skin, not to the beating heart beneath it.

But, for all his resolve, experience, propriety, awareness, intelligence and common sense, the privateer captain Link Forster did not find the words, much less speak them, as she had just now pressed her lips to his, having pulled his head down with a free hand. His shirt, against his better judgement, had been discarded and lay behind him, pushed against the wall.

Her lips, by all the pagan gods and goddesses, by all that was holy and for the love of all that was not, sent fire in his blood, made him desire her the way a starving man seeks nourishment. He wished now he had not allowed her this brutal awakening, as it made him realize all his previous musings had been erroneous.

Cursed be she, bewitching him like no other woman before her, like no other would. Cursed be she! She drove him to distraction!

"My understanding," she declared factually with that impossibly controlled tone still, pulling her lips from his, leaving a frustratingly weak taste of her lingering in his mouth, "captain Forster, is that I desire you more than I have ever desired a man."

By the gods, cursed be she, he thought in despair as he pulled her to him and violently pressed his parched mouth to hers.

He wanted her, had wanted her since the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and he wanted more than those long legs around him. He wanted her, all of her, heart and mind, soul and spirit, he wanted her there forevermore, almost as much as he wanted to make love to her this instant.

By God!

Ripping himself away from her, he let out a loud curse, one that, even in light of the situation, brought a blush to her cheeks. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, feeling his whole body quake in barely held desire, eyes wide and stunned, and he stared her through.

The knowledge that he could have her, that she wanted him to, and that the risk of being discovered was infinitely low only made his sudden stop more heart wrenching. The whole world could have guessed his body was willing, and that his mind was more than ready.

By hell, it wasn't propriety holding him back for once!

He was beginning to feel light-headed, and his body continued to promise, incessantly, painfully, that she was the only remedy to his situation.

Summoning all his breath, all his resolve, the most of which had melted the instant she'd kissed him, he forced out the most agonizing words he'd ever had to pronounce in all his life: "Milady, you are tired. We shall speak in the morn."

Then, before she could break all his leftover resolution, he struggled to unlock the door behind him and hurried out, cursing his foolishness all the way.

"_Have you ever loved before, captain?"_

He reached his under-deck room, feeling feverishly hot.

"_Never, my lady."_

He slammed the door behind him, pushed the lock closed, and leaned against it, lungs bursting for air, as though he'd been drowning.

"_Can men love, captain?"_

Bringing a trembling hand to his face, the blonde captain-privateer let out a loud, ragged, anguished breath between his fingers.

"_I'm afraid they can, the poor saps. But only when their time comes."_

By God, the privateer nearly screamed. Though illogical, nonsensical, futureless, probably unrequited, and completely illegal, his accursed time had come, and it clawed at his chest, howling for freedom.

Though the lady Zelda Harnian had endured it with Marth d'Altea, Link Forster had distressingly understood that, as he had tried to explain without success to the object of his anguish, a person in love could not painlessly bed another in lust.

A bit vaguely, he realized he'd forgotten his shirt at the lady's feet.

* * *

They did speak the next morning.

The conversation was superficial, frustrating, and left them both dully upset. They had both chucked their mindless actions to a moment of thoughtlessness, one that meant strictly nothing, and Zelda Harnian more or less admitted to the captain-privateer, in a wording that would cause him to torment himself for his stupidity, that she had desired company and been frustrated by Knil Drake, who had been frightening and so not quite satisfactory.

Link Forster, carefully blank, had acknowledged her, had said he understood, even, although his blood pulsed white with heat when she was in the near vicinity, which, considering their location, was almost always.

As a final word, he'd promised her he'd take her to her new home as swiftly as possible. They were less than a week away from shore and the New World. He'd assured her the new continent was not so barbaric that she'd be displaced. The people were different, more libertarian, less uptight, perhaps, but still kept universal values close to heart. She'd be welcomed as a refugee of fate rather than shunned as a whore of poor value.

There were eligible parties there for her to find, he'd promised, and she'd smiled at his words, ever so faintly, but not quite convinced.

The rest of the week passed, like the ones before Knil Drake, with even less contact between the two, if so possible. The lady remained inside the cabin, coming out only to accept a bucket of seawater to cleanse herself with now and then.

Link Forster, on his part, had turned to a near automaton, functioning from early to late, always poring over written works or directing the crew, making himself busy, tired, and therefore unable to attend to the lady, who was from this incapable of haunting his days, and so haunted his nights.

They found land two days before reaching destination and followed the coastline towards Orley. Link Forster was about ready to crumble from restless sleep and active hours. As for the lady Zelda Harnian, she was, truth be told, terrified of joining her aunt on the plantation.

Orley, a striving city on the new continent, under the tutelage of the home nation, relied on agriculture, trade and commerce, artistry, and had built itself a small capitol, in which the leaders met for political debates. If arguments with the rapidly disappearing natives occurred, they were easily solved with costless trades. The place itself was bustling, lively, and gave off a somewhat cheerful and welcoming atmosphere.

Though the lady Zelda Harnian was unused to public familiarity, a feeling more than a treatment, she found it wasn't so unpleasant. She could see where Link Forster had taken his charm.

Ah, but that was one of her current issues. If she allowed herself to let her thoughts drift, they unconditionally returned to the feel of his lips on hers, and then explored what could have been, to her everlasting embarrassment.

What had she been thinking?

She considered her folly with a deep breath of new air, and was surprised when a familiar and reassuring voice spoke beside her.

"What are your thoughts, milady?"

Link Forster stood beside her rigidly, dark circles imperceptibly lining his eyes, staring at the bustling harbour they were about to dock in. The _HMS Medallion_ was to stay until they restocked, and would then return to privateering. The captured _HMS Hammer_ was roughly a day behind them, and would be turned over to the authorities. She had heard as much from Anju, who had resumed bringing the lady her meals after Link Forster had become too busy to do it himself, as he'd taken to after the incident with the _Hammer_.

The privateer had come to converse with the lady, and he could not explain it to himself, as her very presence made his mind sizzle and boil. Illusions of her tempting skin and lips had imprinted themselves into his mind's eye, persistent, unnerving, reminding him of what he'd forbidden himself.

If only he hadn't allowed the soft tendrils of deep affection to wrap themselves around his heart, if only he'd taken what she had offered, he'd not be suffering from this near madness.

Turning his head stubbornly from her exquisite face, the captain-privateer attempted to focus merely on their mindless conversation.

The lady took in the captain's handsome profile, and then turned to look at the unknown city. She let out a sad breath.

"I can't say I'm very thrilled to live for an unknown amount of time with my hag of an aunt."

He found nothing to say in response. The lady felt the silence reverberate in her entrails.

Less than an hour later, the Medallion was fully docked and Zelda Harnian stood on the stone wharf. The lady had packed her few belongings, and a crewman had brought the trunk up for her, descending to the bustling, packed dock. She looked around, unsure of what to do. Link Forster joined her, and she looked at him helplessly.

"I wasn't told how to get to my aunt's estate."

Link Forster, feeling a helpless surge of protectiveness bubbling in his chest, carefully said, "Surely she'll have sent a carriage of some sort for you. Leave your trunk here. I'll come with you to see if perhaps he'll have stationed himself away from all the noise."

This gave way to an awkward, silent walk down the dock and towards the city. The pavement wasn't as used as in the home nation. The lady took notice of this, as her eyes were stubbornly turned towards the ground. The captain-privateer did not offer his arm, though she doubted she'd have taken it.

She had not felt slighted by his untimely escape, but had been left to desire him. Shame on her, yes. She was willing to admit the captain was one of the most handsome men she had ever met, most upsetting, most interesting, and definitely the first of the few men she had encountered to deny her anything, and this after pressing such a passionate and insistent kiss to her lips.

Why, she felt more strongly for the captain than she had for Marth, who had been a distracting lover, but an impossible match.

Upon detaching herself from the train of her thoughts, which had begun to drift towards the dream-like waters of matrimony, the lady Zelda Harnian came to the conclusion that carriages were not as common in the cities of the new world as in the home nation. In fact, there was none in sight.

Everyone, from the peasants to the nobles, walked on the street, using the two legs they were born with.

The lady smiled. She was beginning to like this place.

They passed by a stone building identified as the post office. Her opinion of the people was swayed when she noted a group of silly looking girls eyeing her handsome blonde escort.

The lady was not possessive in the least. She'd taken hold of the young privateer's arm to take in the sights and not lose him in the crowd, she decided. The girls smiled at her knowingly, but did not quit their sightseeing. Well, the lady reasoned, at the very least the people here had taste.

If she'd known what her motion had done to the privateer-captain, however, perhaps she'd have smiled back.

Link Forster felt temptation seep into his already boiling blood when he felt her take hold of him, so daintily. Images and dreams mingled in his mind. He felt the raving edge of lunacy almost grip him.

She drove him to insanity, by God.

Unawares, the lady was contemplating the best way to begin a civil conversation when a large stagecoach passed them by. She turned to look at it, wondering if perhaps this was her aunt's. Her companion turned as well, squinting in the sunlight.

The stagecoach continued for barely a few seconds before stopping carefully. The door opened, and out poked the last person the lady had ever expected to encounter.

The young woman in the coach turned back to look at the sidewalk on which Zelda Harnian and Link Forster were strolling, her hand still holding onto the door of the stage. Her bright red hair shone in the sunlight, and her large blue eyes looked surprised. Her skin was sun-touched, as though she had put some country work on her frame, but she looked glowingly healthy. In comparison, Zelda Harnian felt pale and sickly.

"Zelda!" The young redhead exclaimed, just as surprised as the woman she had called upon.

Her face breaking into a heartfelt smile, the lady hurried to greet her friend, and was so strongly embraced that she wondered where Malon London had found the strength she boasted.

"Oh! Zellie! Look at you!" The young woman said. "Oh, it's been so long! I haven't seen you since I was sent here. I heard you were supposed to—What exactly are you doing here?" She suddenly asked, as an afterthought, looking at her friend suspiciously but with warmth.

Zelda Harnian sighed then carefully said, "I daresay you rubbed off of me before you left, Malon."

The redhead's face was incomprehensive, then her eyes widened. "Oh! Oh! Oh my! Really?" Her shock became snide. "With whom, dare I ask?"

The lady grew faintly pink. "Marth d'Altea," she admitted, lowly, though Malon London did not miss a word.

"Marth d'Altea!" She squealed. "The one betrothed since what seems like forever! Oh, Zelda! You shameless vixen!" This was said with such affection and accompanied by such a happy embrace that Zelda Harnian was unable to be insulted.

Standing slightly to the side, feeling left out, Link Forster wondered if he ought to say goodbye. Surely, this Malon London would ensure that the lady would get home safe.

He struggled to ignore the uncanny pain that shot through him at the thought of having desired a woman he'd never get.

Before he could motion for a polite but painful leave-taking, however, Malon London took notice of him. She looked him up and down, a motion that would have extremely satisfied him, considering her beauty, a mere two weeks ago, but that was now completely unimportant, as the one woman who ought to have looked at him thus seemingly did so only out of lust, and not for love.

"And just who might you be, kind sir?" She asked, with the teasing tone he was starting to guess was her habitual tone.

Zelda Harnian turned back to look at him and smiled faintly. "This is Captain Link Forster. He is the one who took me here."

"Really? Just that?" Malon London turned to smile at her friend. "And nothing else?"

The implication of her voice did not go unnoticed, but Zelda Harnian smiled through her flush. "Nothing that ought to excite you, Malon."

Though both travellers knew this was a lie, it seemed to satisfy—or, rather, disappoint—the redhead.

"A pity. I know I wouldn't have missed the chance." She shot Link Forster a kindred smile, which meant friendliness and an acknowledgment without designs of his obvious good looks. Malon London may have been a free spirit and may have enjoyed the male sex, but she knew the eyes of men in love, and so knew which ones not to approach.

"Malon," Zelda Harnian said, eager to detract the conversation from Link Forster's blatant and entirely too distracting good looks, "I was looking for a way to get to my aunt's estate—"

Malon London, tearing her eyes from Link Forster's appealing blonde hair, suddenly said, "Yes! Oh, I was just on my way to see if your ship had arrived! I'm here especially for that!"

Zelda Harnian frowned. "My aunt asked you to bring me to her estate?"

Malon London laughed. "No, no. You won't have to deal with the old hag. The moment I heard about you visiting here, I called upon her and suggested you stay with me. You'll be probably upset to hear she was very happy not to have you near at hand, but on the upside, we'll be living on my elder sister and her husband's ranch! Do you remember Cremia at all?"

Though Zelda Harnian nodded and smiled, her head swam in relief. She shot Link Forster a happy smile, and he smiled softly back, though she saw it did not reach his eyes. Nothing ever reached his eyes anymore, and it worried her somewhat.

"… You really ought to see the horses. There's a young mare, I called her Epona…"

"Malon," Zelda Harnian said, interrupting her friend, who sent her a happy but quizzical look, "Could you wait right here? The captain and I will retrieve my trunk, and then you can proceed to tell me all about your—well, Cremia's—ranch."

Malon London smiled, understanding. "Of course. I'll be right here. Don't be too long, though. We're not supposed to stay here eternally."

With a last hug, Zelda Harnian hurried to catch up with Link Forster, who had saluted the redheaded lady with a polite nod, then left to return to the dock. Malon London sighed, gazing at them, then glanced upwards at the stage driver, who smiled down at her knowingly.

The silence that hung between the lady and the privateer-captain was heavier on their way back than it had been on their walk out. This time a sort of dull acceptance hung heavy over the privateer, one that the lady could not miss. When they reached the trunk, that hadn't moved from its previous spot, they paused.

The captain made no motion to begin, and so the lady said, "Captain."

This got his attention, though he did not react in any particular or remarkable way.

Zelda Harnian said, earnestly, "I understand you and I have had and shared experiences that were not all pleasant." He said nothing, and she took it as a sign to continue. "However…"

She hesitated, unsure of how to word her thoughts. She wanted to just tell him that his kisses had left her numb and wanton, had filled her with a desire no other man had ever elicited from her. She wanted to express how much his unpredictable humour and manners made him unbelievably attractive in her eyes.

"However…" She was at a loss, unsure of where to begin. With a sigh, she said, with all the sincerity she could muster, "I believe I am very much in lo—"

"Milady," the captain suddenly said, lifting a hand to silence her, and she raised her eyes to his. Really, but he was impossibly tall. How unnerving. She despised feeling small and not quite as strong as he.

"Yes?" She wished dearly that her tone hadn't been quite so hopeful.

"Milady, you drive me to insanity."

If the lady had expected a polite goodbye, a quiet rebuttal regarding her waste of both their times, or perhaps even a minuscule admittance that he felt some lust for her, certainly this was a long way from expectation.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, slightly dumbfounded.

The captain-privateer looked at her, his eyes now alight with something unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair, as he often did, and said, "You drive me mad, Milady. Completely, utterly raving mad!"

This caused her to blink, her face troubled. He looked someone prone to fury then, as though he would rip his hair out in frustration. She started a defensive apology, hurriedly, as though to prevent a scene, "Well, certainly, captain, this was not my—"

"Stop that!"

She blinked, feeling irked, somewhat. "Stop what, captain?"

"This! No, that! Calling me captain! Apologizing! Talking! You send me into the grip of insanity every time you speak!"

His outburst had drawn the attention of a good number of passer-bys, as well as the giddy excitement of Malon London, who was not making much effort to be dignified.

She did not know what to respond, and so watched him as he moved a step towards her, looking vaguely out of his mind. With a surprisingly soft grip, however, he took her hand and said, fervently, feverishly, "Zelda Harnian, for all your flaws and all your virtues, you drive me completely and entirely insane. You have since the very first day!"

"Perhaps your ought to consult a doctor—"

"It isn't a doctor that I need, Zelda," he said, for the first time using her first name alone, and she found it was a delightful sound to her ears, "It's you!"

He said this so bluntly, with such fervour, then suddenly leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, right there, on the dock, with a crowd of onlookers.

Kissing before a crowd who, when the captain's crew began whooping, loudly applauded. And, why! This New World knew nothing of impropriety, then?

In spite of the scandalous scene, the lady found herself smiling against the captain's mouth. He sensed it, and moved just far enough to whisper, in time with her, a desperate confession, accompanied by a tame smile.

"Has it ever occurred to you, Link Forster," she breathed teasingly, "that you have no sense of propriety?"

He laughed, thinking that really, if one put abstraction on her own less than proper behaviour, her standards were too high for him to meet. "Blame it on my line of work."

Then, happily, the kissing resumed.

* * *

**For those who are wondering what in the world happened to Knil Drake, stay tuned. As I mentionned earlier, there's a last chapter planned before this story is definitely overwith.**

**Also, for those who read and don't review, I'd still like to have your general opinion in the end. Take a minute. I accept anonymous reviews without problem. :)**

**Anyhow, stick around for the conclusion!**

**Review if you want to make me a happy person!**

**Love,  
CM**


	5. Confident Anticipations

**And so yeah. This is it! The last part of Privateer! I'm posting it today though I finished it last night/early this morning. And I was too drowsy to find my keyboard, which I thought had mysteriously vanished. Upon reaching my basement this morning, I simply discovered that I had been too tired to just look down. Yeah. It's what they call being stupidly tired.**

**For those who've expressed concern regarding the nature of my future works, well... I'm as clueless as you. I've got plenty of ideas, but hardly any that take over my whole brain for now. We'll see, but don't worry, I'm not quitting. You'll probably have a couple of oneshots to feast on sooner or later.**

**And here is what happens once summer comes for Linkie and Zellie.**

**Warning: **None (except shameless romance**. I'm disgusted with myself.) You've gotten through the last chapter, so this one is more than tame.**

**For those who are interested, E3 2006 is right 'round the corner! Yep, so keep your eyes open for LoZ news on Tuesday and for the rest of the next week! ****+glee+**

**Privateer  
Part 5: Confident Anticipations  
By CM**

Summer had rolled around and was reaching its end in stubborn, somewhat humid warmth. Orley was as bustling as ever, despite the intense heat, filled with heavyset matrons waving about fans helplessly and men working in as light clothes as socially acceptable.

The privateer-captain tugged at the tight collar of his uniform, upset by the heat, and looked beyond the large iron gates he'd stopped in front of.

The capitol of Orley was a relatively small but officious looking building. Though it was modeled after some greater works of architecture, it really only held two small courtrooms, a few offices, a library and a ballroom adjoining the entrance hall.

Link Forster walked from the gate to the large, heavy double doors of the brick building. A gentleman waited by the door, and acknowledged the blonde young man with a curt nod. Upon being motioned to pass by and enter the building, Link walked in, unusually quiet.

The privateer rolled a shoulder, glancing down to ensure that all his honours were displayed on his vest. He despised the formal wear, but knew it was essential in order to enter the functionary edifices without question. He'd straightened his back, double-checked the cleanliness of his clothes then walked all the way to the capitol.

He had business to attend to.

He entered the large hall. Without a word and with a motion of his hand, the wiry desk-keeper indicated a side door.

The courtroom was small, with hardly eight rows of benches for the audience, a single window behind the judge's chair letting in vivid sunlight that outlined the specks of dust in perpetual motion in the air. There were seats to each side at the front, for the jurors or the offenders. This time, the room was empty of any people.

As Link Forster walked in, a large man with a cheery grin ―a rather inappropriate face for the uptight décor— greeted him boisterously, with a heavy slap on his shoulder.

"Constable Darunia Garon," the privateer smiled at the older man, knowing the coarse constable could smile even in the direst situations.

The constable was an old acquaintance whom Link had befriended by accident in a tavern many years prior. After a rather absurd incident involving a gnawed two-pence hat, a drunken patron, an illiterate farmer and a rather bothersome goat, the intricacies of which had been blurred out by alcohol, Link Forster and Darunia Garon had been linked by their desire never to think of that evening again.

Link Forster appreciated the constable, as the man's position in the law enforcement stations allowed the privateer an overview of local and worldly issues, which one could miss from always being out at sea. In exchange, the young man offered the officer a paid night of tavern touring whenever the opportunity presented itself. The constable made an amusing drunk, and the privateer was otherwise sans drinking partner; hence they often met for toasts.

"Has been a while, old boy," Darunia Garon said, slapping down repeatedly and painfully on the privateer's shoulder without realizing his strength, a rather common obliviousness. "Been looting much, I' heard!"

Link Forster cringed and sighed in relief when finally the officer ceased his happy greeting. With a bit more decorum, the two men turned to the opposite side of the room, where jail keepers stood on each side of Knil Drake, having just entered.

Knil Drake's sunken, tired eyes met Link Forster and he smirked vaguely. The keepers pushed the dark haired privateer down on a chair, and the young man hardly struggled, his hands bound.

Before focusing his full attention on the pre-trial hearing that would soon occur, Link Forster turned back to Darunia Garon, and asked, "How are affairs standing?"

The constable smiled a toothy grin. "They haven't judged him for now, but I heard word that they might attribute his yet-undeclared loot to your name."

Link Forster's brow rose, but he said nothing.

"That'll be sure to push your wages up a notch, eh?" The officer said with a grin. "Can't hurt, can it?"

"Obviously not," Link Forster said absently. "What is the list of charges?"

Darunia Garon gave a dubious grunt. "Rah. Assaults on fellow shipmen, attacks on Her Majesty's Ships, theft of home nation property… Nothing completely unexpected."

Link Forster nodded. Silently, the two men walked towards the front of the courtroom. Knil Drake turned to them, but said nothing, as the judge entered the room. The dark-haired privateer was pulled upwards to stand, as a show of respect.

"Sit," the judge ordered. Knil Drake rolled his eyes and let himself slump back down on the straight chair. No other man in the room budged. The judge eyed the captured privateer and rifled through his papers. With his large powdered wig and heavy robes, he looked sweaty in the summer heat.

"Knil Drake," the old man said tiredly, "we are here for a pre-trial hearing. Bear in mind that the trial itself will be public and that all you will say will be noted and kept for future reference. Today we only ask questions. No judgement will be passed for execution, but statements on any witness' part will have to be justified to avoid conviction. Until then," the tired judge pushed his round little glasses back up his narrow, crooked nose, "there will be two hearings, this first of which will be yours alone, today. Any questions?"

"Before we start, Your Majesty," the privateer said, not without some irony, a sarcasm that the judge ignored out of habit, "I'd like a private audience with the friendly Link Forster here."

All eyes turned to Link Forster, whose eyebrow had gone up suspiciously. Darunia Garon turned to the judge, and offered, "Your Honour, I can be witness to the exchange, if that would be appropriate."

"How long will this be?" The judge said, the annoyance he'd barely dissimulated before now obvious.

Knil Drake shrugged. "Not more than a couple of minutes, I'd wager."

"Very well. We'll give you ten minutes. Constable, if the offender does anything out of line…"

Darunia Garon nodded. With a loud billow of cloth, the judge left the room, followed by the ever-silent jail keepers.

"What do you want?" Link Forster said impatiently.

"I have a question and a request, Forster." When the blonde privateer said nothing, Knil Drake continued, "I'll start with the question."

There was a long silence.

"What do you think of me?" Drake suddenly asked, a dark eyebrow raised high on his forehead.

Hardly taken aback, Link Forster said, without hesitation, "I pity you, and I won't forgive the _Lune Empress_ massacre."

This was spoken with such flat evidence that Knil Drake's usual smile wavered. Not really humbled, he softly nodded. "Given it thought, I see. So even if I had wanted to, I'd have apologized for nothing. Bah. It's just as well that I don't feel any regrets."

Link Forster's fist clenched angrily, and even Darunia Garon looked like he was holding back a punch. Knil Drake lazily said, "In that case, I have a request for you, Forster. One that'll do us both good."

When both his hearers said nothing and merely stared him through coldly, the bound offender said, "See my pistol on the table there? Next to the books."

Link Forster glanced at the table and saw the twin pistol. His eyes hardened, and he turned them back to Knil Drake, who smiled back.

"I'd like you to take it and destroy it."

Darunia Garon, unsure of how such a request would serve the blonde privateer, looked between the two enemies in silence.

"It failed me when I needed it," Knil Drake said, "and I have no stronger wish than to be unbound from you."

"Where'd you get a clean tongue like that?" Darunia Garon asked disdainfully, even as Link Forster moved away towards the table.

Knil Drake shrugged. "I'm an officer too. Or was." His gaze hardened, and one could presume it was bitter sadness that clouded his eyes over. He said, "It's not like they don't have enough evidence against me to convict me ten times over."

"You've gotten that part right, at least," the constable spat, disgusted.

"What do you say, Forster?" The dark-haired privateer asked then, looking over to the blonde man standing motionlessly by the table. "Aren't you tired of me?"

Without turning to look back at the constable or the prisoner, Link Forster picked the pistol marked with the initials K.D. and ignored how his hands were shaking. His eyes had glazed over. This was a gift from his father, and one of the last traces of him that remained. Though it was painful to think of ridding the world of one more piece of the man, the blonde privateer knew he had to destroy it if he was to be free of Knil Drake.

In a soft voice, he said, "I will take out a screw from its body and cast it into the ocean. You will never see it again… Knil." He'd added the name as an afterthought. It felt strange to refer to him as he'd referred to his brother.

"Link."

The voice wasn't deep like Darunia's. It could only be Knil Drake himself. How strange that here, at the crossroad, they should finally sound like brothers. For indeed, the way they spoke each other's name now was soft, regretful, mournful even, and had lost all traces of animosity. Link Forster had brought Knil Drake to justice, as justice had to be brought upon him, and by this allowed them both to be washed of their respective mistakes.

"Well now!" Knil Drake started speaking once more in his former brother and enemy's direction, with a lighter voice, as if to pretend that nothing dark sat in him. "I do suppose you've finally seduced that blonde beauty that was on your ship?"

Link Forster said nothing, though he tensed.

"If you did, I'll say I wish you happiness. In all likelihood, they'll execute me before I can be let to the wedding." Knil Drake forced a laugh. "Thought of it, though? Your children… Born without an uncle. Born with a dead man in the family, if of the family I still am." His smile faltered. He was silent for a long moment, before croaking, "A dead man…" Unbidden, tears made his eyes glass over.

A silent sob made his shoulders quake.

"By god," he softly said. "What have I done?" He choked up, then gasped, "How could I do all that I've done?"

Link Forster was silent, heart in his throat.

"You really ought to have shot me." Knil Drake said, in a near whisper.

"You were weaker than I," Link Forster said hoarsely, and walked out of the room, at last, looking worn, pistol carefully put away in his overcoat. He heard Darunia Garon call the judge back into the courtroom, but nothing else. He'd hurried out into the street, and the passer-bys moved out of his way. Link Forster looked thoughtful, uneasy, and yet strangely relieved. He was not at peace, and was not glad that Knil Drake's crimes would bring the man to death, but felt no guilt either.

The weight of the pistol in his overcoat pocket was familiar, reassuring, and promising that at last he would detach himself from the _Lune Empress_ murderer.

As he stepped away, Link Forster came to understand that it was for both he and Knil the only choice. He had to live, and for this, Knil Drake had to die. It could not be any other way.

Yes, his children would be born without an uncle. Yet, had they been born with Knil Drake, perhaps their fate would have only been the sadder.

A small, sad smile pulled at his lips. He needed to be reassured and comforted. She would know how to heal him.

Yes. She would know.

* * *

Zelda Harnian, glad to take a breath, stepped out onto the large, white painted back veranda of the ranch house. She enjoyed sunlight nowadays. Her skin was still rather pale, but the fresh air and exercise had tinged her cheeks with a healthy rose colour. She'd grown hardy limbs, lithe but steady. Her cheeks were not so sallow anymore, fuller with good food, and body healthier from eating true meat and vegetables. Her eyes shone blue; her hair had paled to white strands because of bright sunlight, with strands of dark, spun gold. 

Her dresses had quickly grown too stuffy for her freer movements, and she'd learned needlework in practicality. Malon London, her sister Cremia and Cremia's husband, Ignatius Gorman ―a cold looking but warm hearted man, not a handsome party but entirely devoted to his wife― had given her a large room in their country, off-town house. If at first the arrangements had seemed small and quaint, she'd grown fond of the warm, familiar setting. The ranch hands, when they were not complimenting her ―a flattering thing, she had to admit―, had taken their time to teach her manual work, and maids had aided her in understanding the workings of laundry and housework.

A ranch was large enough an estate that even the masters of the household had to put in their hands for the place to function. Zelda Harnian, more than glad to help and be a part of the family, had willingly put forth her greatest, sincerest efforts. Soon enough, she had mastered the art of completing multiple tasks at once.

Her hands tightened on the woven basket she held. It was heavy on her hip, but for a moment, the warm wind of late morning had distracted all her discomfort. A shameless smile stretched her dark pink lips.

Careful not to trip, she descended the creaking painted wood steps and walked straight onto the dewy grass, green and thick, and the summer flowers caught in her apron and country dress. She carefully picked her way over to the bare cloth lines, and placed the basket on the ground beside her.

She took a new deep breath and looked at the country behind the house, where fields and roads stretched endlessly. Trees and woods grew here and there, in tufts of dark green on the horizon clashing with the ripe yellow and gold and brown of the earth and deep blue of the sky.

No matter the time of day, this expanse of land and property was beautiful.

Zelda Harnian smiled once again. She brushed her long, undulating hair behind her ear. It had been straight before, before the sun had kissed and tarnished it, before she had allowed it to dry in the wind, before she had let it fall over her shoulders freely.

She bent to pick a white, sopping wet drape and flapped it in the wind. It made a loud billow, sticking to itself in humidity. Stretching it onto the line, she smoothed the creases scrupulously, taking her time. She had all day, if she so pleased.

When the first drape was billowing into the prairie wind, she bent to pick another from the basket. This one was slightly larger. She outstretched her arms and did her best to pull it evenly on the cloth line. She pulled at the corners to get rid of the largest wrinkles, smoothing it with both hands, slowly, carefully.

She heard the door of the house open, and Malon enthusiastically invite someone outside. She did not give it much thought, promising herself to kindly welcome whichever guest Malon London had brought in from town with a polite nod, but first came the laundry.

There was a conversation, she thought, though the billowing of the drapes made it difficult to know what was being discussed and with whom. She bent to pick another drape, humming to herself, and shutting out any further questioning.

She lost track of time, finishing with her laundry to the very last crease. When at last she emerged from her own mind, Malon's voice could no longer be heard and whomever she'd invited was left faceless. Never mind that. This was no novelty.

Zelda Harnian took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the grass and fresh laundry and the feel of the warm sun on her skin, and then put her mind to getting her next chore done.

Bending to pick up the now empty basket, she spotted a pair of officer boots standing right there, slightly behind her. The boots belonged to legs and the legs belonged to a whole body. Her blue eyes drifted upwards, much upwards. It was startling to find a man so near, and quite strange not to have noticed him before. She supposed her thoughts had been farther than she'd expected.

When her eyes met the visitor's face, her lips stretched into a heartfelt smile, her whole face lighting up with barely held happiness. She stood straight, leaving the basket at her feet.

"I was wondering," the visitor said first, "when you would come to notice me."

She laughed at this. "Perhaps you ought to have made your presence known, then."

The handsome visitor shrugged, his shoulders bound uncomfortably by an official looking outfit. He tugged at his high collar, irritated. She reached up to loosen his collar knot, pulling gently to lighten the tension on his neck. He was motionless and patient, but shot her a grateful look once she was done.

"Thank you."

She traced a finger over his decorations. He'd been promoted once since her arrival in the New World. She'd been glad for him, but his new rank had demanded him to leave at once for the great waters.

"I had not expected you to return so soon," she said with a gentle but happy smile.

He brought a hand around her waist, pulling her to him. "I had business to attend to. And I could not wait to feast my eyes on you once more."

She laughed. "Lovely."

"You are," he grinned boyishly. "A truly charming beauty. I'd swear to myself you've grown even more attractive since I've last seen you."

She brought a finger to push at the tip of his nose teasingly. "That signifies you've been away too long."

He sighed in discontent, but brought his lips to brush against hers. She happily allowed him to push his mouth onto hers, enjoying it even more now that he'd been deprived of this for a month and was craving her.

"By God," he mumbled, whispering between kisses, "you're lucky to live with this beauty of yours every day. I envy you."

She laughed once again. "You've not seen yourself, captain. Perhaps you'd know your own luck if you bothered to appreciate that face of yours."

He raised a brow. "My, my. Could this be the first instance in which you told me how purely handsome I am?"

She shot him a flat look, pulling away to pick up the basket that stayed at their feet. "You are so very unpleasant, but I'll admit you're very well-favoured."

He smirked, tugging on the cord of her apron and thus pulling her back towards his firm body. "I suppose that makes two of us, does it not, milady?" He brought his lips to her nape, placing a tempting kiss there. "Now what did I mention about leaving before I'm done enjoying your company?"

She stifled a soft laugh, knowing he'd mentioned no such thing, and knowing he would never dare bed her before wedlock. With a teasing titter, she pulled away again and said, "Now, mind your manners, sir. What would people say?"

"I would not know," Link Forster admitted, "nor would I give a tinker's damn about it."

His lips teased her shoulder now ―when had he pulled her loose sleeve down? ― and felt very good. She'd have given in had he continued a mere minute longer. Perhaps it was to unnerve the lovers that lunch hour came upon them. She reluctantly pulled away when the door on the veranda opened and Malon appeared. She called out to them both and announced that dinner was ready, and would the 'Ship of the Line Captain' like to join them for a very homey luncheon?

To Zelda Harnian's joy, Link Forster nodded.

The blonde privateer turned to the woman he loved and offered his arm humorously, which she took with a flourish.

"I'm sure you're curious to know," the captain said as they made their way towards the veranda, "I am hoping that your Uncle will give me one more opportunity, aside from our meeting in his mansion that first time."

"Oh?" She asked, to keep him speaking. "Which would that be?"

"Well," the privateer calmly started, lightly, "I suppose he cannot stop me from courting you." She nodded comically, as though this were a difficult point to consider and required much thought. He said, "He can not keep me from seeing you if I so please."

"I suppose he cannot," Zelda Harnian conceded. He stopped before the house door, and stilled her before any of them entered.

"I was considering that it would only be fair to ask him for your hand."

Zelda's heart stilled, feeling herself nearly falter.

Link's eyes looked earnest, now. "If you will let me have it, that is."

And thus, the lady tearfully smiled.

* * *

**Well, that's it!**

**I've been exposed to various reactions regarding Knil Drake, which were both gratifying and predictable. Some people like mystery and bad boys, while others like honesty and good sirs, but I think unanimously the opinion was that Knil was a frighteningly interesting character. I'm glad that people find it so, because it means I've done a decent job of developing him. It's always the best compliment to realize you've made someone react to your writing in some way, whether with love or with hate.**

**I'd also like to apologize for any insult anyone (mostly historians and amateur historians) might have taken at my melting pot of cultures. I found it really interesting to work with, without being restraining. Besides, I love history myself and would loathe for someone to get it wrong. However, I am aware that I've mingled many different concepts from many different cultures and centuries together. If this did not predominate over the plot itself, I still think I ought to present an apology to those who're picky with such things, just in case. :)**

**If you have _any _questions or comments, feel free to leave a signed review or send me a PM (preferably). I'll be more than glad to respond to any question you may have. While I don't always respond to reviews, I make a point of personally and quickly answering private messages.**

**Once again, it's see you again next time, and please review if you think this was worthwhile. **

**Thank you for following the story with me until the end!**

**Love,  
CM**


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